Ramrod Stewart

Where do I even start? Song lyrics? “My body stunk, but I kept my funk”!?!... I don’t think so. I did decide that if I ever became a roller derby participant, my name would be Ramrod Stewart. I guess that’s a good starting point.

Thank god I’m alone. Thank the fucking overlord that I’m presently alone. I’m alone in a Radiohead song sort of way, though. There are hundreds of Japanese people buzzing about me like flies, but I am not expected to talk to them. Fuck small talk. Fuck it fuck it fuck it! I am so tired of the stupid tired conversations I’ve been forced to have for the past five days and nights. I learned one thing from it. I’m terrible at small talk. I come off as boring and dull. I am boring and dull. I have no desire to be otherwise. Everyone can go fuck themselves and talk about moronic drivel—I’m not doing it anymore (or at least for the next hour).

I’m having a bad case of Rainforest Café syndrome. I know I’m fine, but these people and their bullshit makes me feel inferior. I desperately want to retreat inside my mind and get the hell out of this (this being this orientation, program, and overall bullshit, NOT Japan). I’m desperate to be lonely and insignificant in my own apartment. It won’t happen for probably two more weeks at least. I have to meet so many people and try to think of interesting things to say. I want to fucking slit my wrists.

The Japanese seem very likable, though. I’m looking forward to making friends with them (hopefully). It’s the goddam Americans, Australians, English, and everyone else that are getting on my nerves. More the situation than the people. I just can’t take this attempt to be interesting anymore.

There are many many things to write about and discuss. It will happen, but I’m thinking that it might not be for here and now. I need to purge my soul, but details won’t cut it. I need to scream an almighty “fuck” at the top of my lungs.

I’ve often wondered why “this” is so easy for some people and so difficult for me. Really it doesn’t matter, though. As I get older, I’m more confident about being under confident. Even when I’m socially retarded, I deal with it. Don’t beat myself up as I used to.

In about three hours I’ll get on my plane that takes me to my new home. I’ll meet my supervisor, predecessor, and coworkers. I’m in the shit, but soon I’ll walk deep into the shit I’m going to know, live, love, and roll around in on a daily basis.

I have so many stories from orientation. I’ll have to pick and choose carefully as I’m not going to be able write all of it. Hopefully tonight will afford me some time to wax poetic.

The thing I need to bitch about is that the excitement of all of this is being defeated by the bullshit. But the numbers are decreasing. From 1000, we are now six. I only have six other Americans that I’ll have to talk to for some time. Then I meet the people that I’ll see every day. I’ve got to get my fucking shit together and pull some small talk out of my ass. Maybe a Borat impersonation or two. Maybe I’ll dance like Bill Cosby. Maybe, as it did in France, it will magically come together and I won’t look like the socially inept fucktard that I am. Only time will tell.