Tired

So tired.
Did "sakura singing" with Jesse and Steve today.
Am totally wiped.
My eyes barely stay open.
Came home on the late train.
Some nice shacho san gave us lots and lots of obento. And beer (Steve and Jesse were happy).
So I'm full of obento and ready to crash.
I met a friend out today and had coffee at a bagel place in Shizuoka that I've never gone to before. It's not something I usually do so...II OMOIDE NI NARIMASHITA.
Sore jya, watashi wa soro soro...
PS: By the way, Steve, Jesse and I had a slow day the other day and had time to burn, so we came home and recorded some of our "oldies" NAMA ENSO with two condenser mics in the middle of the sound room. They're really funny, and I think Steve even says "This is for Florence's blog" at the beginning of one of them. So I guess I'll post them.

OH, and it's SO COLD!!!

PPS: For those people who have been to Sumpu park and would know what I'm talking about...you know that statue of the old guy in the corner of the park? I've always wondered who he was, and just today I actually read the inscription and realized it's Tokugawa Ieyasu. What're the odds! The most famous shogun. Wow. That would explain the picture. (Actually the coolest thing about the picture is the Mito Komon "mondokoro" in the corner.)

Elaina,

I wonder how you're doing.
I still find myself trying to walk quietly down the stairs.
I still stop singing when I come into the little house, and I don't make any noise in the hallway until about mid-morning. I still yell toward your room when I'm calling people for dinner. I still think "I've got to talk with Elaina" when someone suggests a movie or activity. I still think "I'll buy these for Elaina!" when I see cool toe socks out shopping.
So you're no longer here to waste money on or be quiet for...
But it sucks to think of other people wasting money and being quiet for you when I can't.
Lucky blokes.
---Florence

PS: No one does their JJT on time anymore. We're minus one JJT drill sergeant.

Me and Mine

You aren't hilarious
But I'm laughing
You aren't charming
But I'm grinning
You aren't amiable
But I'm patient
You aren't perfect
But I love you--
And thereby, I love everything that you do.

The above was not written with my best friends in mind; they ARE hilarious, (charming? I guess), amiable (wait...maybe two of them)...
And perfect is not subjective because, as I'm the one who wrote that poem, I can say whatever I please.
My best friends are perfect.

I miss them.

And as they don't read my blog, I don't know what the purpose for posting this would be. If I think really hard, there is no reason--but, love makes people do things for no reason.

Aslan Reigns

"Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only real world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for the Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say."

--Puddleglum to the Green Witch, "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Silver Chair"

Random Objects In My Room #2

Above are the endearing messages two of my best friends wrote on my camp binder. Another best friend can be found in the north edge of the second picture, where it is written "Love you tons, etc, etc."
Priceless.
An ancient and speckly picture of two retards and one old folk. Florence and Steve wearing battle garb (singing costumes). Just for the record, Steve does NOT have a smaller head than me--this photo is improportionate and causes me a lot of pain.
I have the power to save your life.
I also have the condemnation if you don't survive.
So if you're anything from gushing blood to dead on impact, I have the option of flashing my badge and saying "step aside, step aside, I know what to do" and going down on you (with my CPR powers; no "oh that's what they call it these days!" please) or to put my hands in my pocket and just walk away. I'd probably chose the latter because i'm a wimp.
Something I drew when I was 10. Man...something was wrong with me.
The inky design on the front of one of my old proph books. There's more where that came from.
Wow. Did I really say it? A random exclamation on a page of one of my notebooks. Man I must've been losing it.

Random Objects In My Room #1

ROOM! Come into my room.
CHAIR! I sit on the chair.
TABLE! I sit at the table.
TV! Color TV.

Tunes from a past life, man.
My counter. If someone has a better word for whatever kind of twisted window-sill I have, please let me know. Until you contact me, I'm calling it my counter.
And yes, the picture of the singing girl is supposed to be me.
My Dad made the glowing orbs and secretly sneaked them into my room on new years (my late Christmas present). I think I helped him crackle up the pink plastic for the inside without knowing who it was for.
The candles, along with everything else girly in my room, were from Abner, who made it his Christmas project to try to make my room as girly as possible. Other than that, there isn't anything really interesting about this picture except that it's a piece of scenery that I look at EVERY SINGLE DAY. And now I'm sharing it with you.
Here are the books on my counter. Observe the metal stud sticking out of my wall. That connects to gas all the way down the stairs. Yes, folks, I live in a kitchen!!!
And my awsome piggy lighter that blows fire out of his nostrils. PIG THE FIERCE DRAGON.
Niki may observe a sneaky book peeking out above the rest.

For Niki (a random hardcover novel):

The above is a fine specimen of root. My Mom has this campaign of mercy toward half-dead and orphaned plants that she puts in ugly pots or cups and tries to revive by sticking them on my counter to soak up the sun. Such sacrifice, Mom.

A sticky memo on my desk.

The above is my first PNP book; below is a page from it. My 10-year-old handwriting.
My Christmas present from Elaina. A page of eyebrow plucking coupons. This was like...Christmas 2004 I think.

And that's it for this month's installment of "Random Objects In My Room". Tune in next week for...

Calling all Trolls

Come my friends, let me whisper sweet words of love to you, that your souls may be edified and your bowels comforted.
To get right to the point: I have about as much respect for your freedom of speech as I do for your thoughts. I delete. Florence deletes. We like it.
I'll admit, I do sometimes feel as though I am torn between two very tasty options:
1. Let my fine friends defend me and mine.
2. Send your two cents careening into the happy abyss of Nice Try.
I go with the latter because I value the time of others: my friends, who may bother to read your comments, or worse yet, take the time to crush you into fine powder with theirs, AND! AND! even the precious minutes of your challenged lives mean something to me. I wouldn't want you to waste those or your scattered spurts of genius on things which will only suffer the fate of option 2.
Anyway.
I don't like you much, but Jesus does love you, and you too can be happy.