It is a discerned fact that details and enumeration can make the devil out of the some of the best of people. For these people, details are worshipped on par with God, prayed to for guidance, supplicated to for answers and ultimately followed with such exacting precision, that you wonder if they are not simply trying to make machines of themselves. It is true, of course, that every man should be entitled to his religion, even if it is the mundane notion of facts and figures, but the trouble with them is that they believe in their religion in the way one believes two of one thing and two of another makes four. Anything to the contrary, even if it is simply a statement that "While it may equal four, nobody gives a rats ass", will undoubtedly enrage them. One can find these sorts of people enlivened to such a zealous rage as to actually scare someone into the inability to calculate such an easy sum, to resent the bringer of the sums, and to wish to avoid them at any cost. The fact that these persons and their devotions cannot be avoided causes an incalculable misery for so much of the world.

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It was night, after work, and I was feeling a whole new kind of terrible. Stomach ailments had never really been a thing for me back when I was a kid, but now that I was in a foreign country, eating foreign food, everything I ate seemed to repeat. I wandered in, blanched and pale. I had been referred there by one of my coworkers, although I cant remember which one. I asked them if they had anything for my stomach and the woman recommended her Ginger Root Yuk. I sat in the corner of their little shop and I ate it.
It was warm, it was fragrant, and as it dripped down my esophagus, it was like a salve, seeping into some wound deep inside of me. When I had finished with it, the people at the restaurant insisted that I not pay. I cant quite think why, I know I had the money, but I think they were determined to take care of me. I went there a lot after that. I miss Korea.

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I am reading a great book called "The Buried Giant". It is another book out by Kazuo Ishiguro, the man who wrote "Never Let Me Go". In this story, like in Never Let Me Go, he explores this idea: If you were to prove that you loved someone, if your life or your time together depended on it, how would you go about proving it. To this end, he follows an elderly couple, a couple who, by a trick of magic or fate, have lost all their memories of their time together, however, it is through their fondest memories that they are supposed to determine wether or not they are in love.

It is so beautiful it makes me tear up listening to it. It is beautiful, because even without their memories, you can tell that they love each other, or tell at least that the man Axel adores his "princess" Beatrice. He worries after her aches and pains, worries that he doesn't make her angry or upset, not because he is afraid of her, because I have dated men like this, but because she is so precious to him that he cannot bear the thought of her being in pain.

Then, I went on a date.

Is it... something that takes time, feeling that way? Or should you feel it? Is it wrong to say "yes" to date two without it? Do I love? Or am I just afraid of being alone? I am the second, but am I just? Oh, heavy head, I am heading to rest now. Maybe it'll all be much clearer in the morning.

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If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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So, I'm getting rid of a lot of my stuff. Funnily, I hadn't realized that my last post was about pretty much the same thing! Tiny house here I come ;)

When you decide to get rid of most of the stuff you have in order to move into a smaller space permanently, you learn a lot of things about yourself. Some of the things I've learned include:

- I have (had?) waaaay too much stuff
- Free isn't free.
- Creating a thing is sometimes the purpose of it
- I love to paint and draw (and am, surprisingly, not too bad at it!)
- I want to write more letters to people
- Gift cards are amazing

I also learned something about stuff and about people that I never realized before. Being wasteful is as much about taking on too much as it is about not making time or room for something. If you have one hundred pencils, you won't miss one, but you won't take care of it either. If you have a hundred acquaintances that you have to invite to every thing and address equally in everything, you won't miss them like you should and you won't take care of them either.

You see, I've always had this feeling with people that if you're going to let someone in, you have to let everyone in. I never wanted to be cliquey or close-minded. I wanted to make everyone I knew, everyone I met feel accepted and wanted. I still feel that way, for the most part. But as I go through my things, I'm kind of facing something that I never realized I bought into. That is, I don't have to feel guilty about not being the perfect match for everybody. I shouldn't feel guilty about having limits on what I take and what I put up with, and most of all, I can't let people I don't even like take up time and energy in my life. Because, if I let them do that, I can't really have the energy for the people I do care about.

Is that hokey? It sounds hokey, but it's kind of true. I don't even know how to do it, really. I guess it's just a matter of not taking on what I can't carry.

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1.) I've always dreamed of building a custom home. (I mean really. I was drawing floor plans when I was like... six.)
2.) I've always wanted land.
3.) All that is freaking expensive.

EXCEPT! If you miniaturize everything, it starts to become affordable!

But that's... like forever off.

:( Freaking rental market.

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