Thursday, December 8, 2011

Burn Out

Dear Germany,

The weirdest things have been happening - you have been coming up more and more in my conversations.  It's not enough to drink hot cocoa - I have to compare it to yours.  I idly think about traveling distances and times on the trains.  I find myself craving German torte.  I wonder if I could learn how to make schnitzel.  I keep making plans about what I want to go and see and do when I see you.  I have to keep reminding myself that it's not last year - that I'm not going to see you soon.  I think it's safe to say I miss you.  When will I see you again?

Love,
Me


Dear Subconscious,

Last night's dream was an utter nightmare.  Sure, it was nice that someone decided my lab looked old and dilapidated and I appreciated the remodeling.  However, when I saw the result of remodeling was that my own lab was now strewn across several offices and that the equipment was rendered useless through the carelessness of hasty remodelers, I couldn't stop the tears from coming.  There I was, with some new secretary at her desk, gawking at me while I bawled my eyes out, helplessly aware that my PhD degree was getting pushed back indefinitely.  Thanks for the (unnecessary) reminder that so many things could still prevent me from getting my degree.  Some friend you are.

Love,
Me


Dear Semester,

How is it that I only have two weeks until Christmas and yet I still have a semester of work left to do?  I promise I've been working hard.  So where did all that effort disappear to?  I would beg you to slow down so I can get something done but I don't know if that will even help at this point.  I'm just going to keep going until I can't anymore...

Love,
Me


Dear はせべさん,

The fact that you take a picture of every meal you eat, that you played babysitter and peacemaker the entire North Korean game, that you showed the camera men that you enjoy reading books out on our balcony and sometimes, you even rest your feet up on the balcony's railing/ledge when you do so, that you always manage to walk around with your glasses perched up on your forehead - when I see these things, I think, "How your mother must love you!"  I think I was supposed to see a mature 27 year old in all of these things but instead, I kept seeing a little boy who is good and doing his best, but little boy nevertheless, with a vulnerable little heart and plaintive eyes.  So, why is it that this week, with pictures on your blog of you losing your sled halfway down the sled run, and pictures of you riding on the children's carousel by yourself twice -  that which would assure your ever-present boyishness - why do I feel instead that we are just the same age after all?

Love,
Me  

From Tumblr, AP Photo
From Tumblr

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