If you were here, we'd go for a walk. We'd walk to a shrine, because even though I just visited one, there are four within a half-kilometer of my apartment, and in their own ways they're all beautiful. We'd go to the one with the gentle little river running through the side garden where I met a guy named Toshi who was adorable and possibly gay and very friendly and definitely with a woman.

Japan has its gorgeous moments, when the whole country looks open and smooth and smiling like Toshi's face. So did Washington, California, Utah, and even frigid New York.

There's part of me that's convinced that a new place will make everything better, but it won't. In every place I've ever had a computer I've binged on internet TV. I haven't held down a constant exercise program since my weight training classes at community college. Given the option I don't talk to people, which might explain my lack of progress with Japanese. I don't like alcohol or loud music except very rarely. Sometimes I let the dishes go unwashed until I have to use chopsticks to stir my chocolate milk. These are the things I feel are holding me back, and they're not location dependent quirks.

But maybe understanding small talk and being openly gay again will make a difference. I hope that at my next job I'll be able to make friends with my coworkers a little more effectively. I hope that at my next job I won't feel my soul slipping away from me a bit at a time.

My roommate Jeff once asked me what my greatest fear was. I said "That nothing will change." What I meant was "That this feeling that I'm wasting my life will never go away." 

Same fear.