Am I better or worse off than I was before?

3/13/10:

I wake up. My underwear have staged a walk-out. The freedom feels unfamiliar like my sense of decency is asking "how did we get here?" That road map would be printed with brown sugar and life. 6:37, which means it's really 5:37. I wonder how many ounces of sunlight it takes to pull me out of a dream, probably more for a pleasant dream. I roll over carefully, trying not to chafe my bits. No use, that threshold's been breached, no chance for more sleep.

The floor is cold. My slippers haven't yet reported for duty. Someday I'll have the amazing power of foresight, but for now my lonely feet will have to make do. I admire people who can implement a routine without losing interest. Repetition looks an awful lot like the mother of boredom from where I'm sitting. But I suppose it's only boring people that get bored.

Water. They say that everyone is naturally dehydrated in the morning and that the first act of a healthy person should be to saturate that parched throat. I pour more than a pint down the hatch. Refreshing. Heavy drinkers come to know this act as an inevitable fact of life. For me the worst part about waking up without a hangover is that this is the best I'm going to feel all day. There's no hump to crawl over, no easily attained sense of accomplishment. No satisfying crunch when improvement smashes headache. Monday mornings in unemployment are a hangover in themselves. They're nowhere. They're needy, like an attention-starved child. I've taken to locking them in the closet of a decent bit of literature until they promise to start behaving themselves.

Today:

That was the journal entry from exactly 3 months ago (to the day). It never fails to amaze me how dynamic life can be. In only the short span of a dozen weeks I find myself leading a decidedly different life. Even the day to day changes are noticeable; the mannerisms I’ve subconsciously taken on as a result of my brain trying to blend my 6’4 frame into a shallow sea of Asians, the willingness to commute more than an hour for good food and drink, the breakfast routine…

If I had absorbed even just a fifth of my stepfather’s uncanny ability to turn any situation into one of worry, I’d say these rapid changes weigh heavily on my mind. Will I wake up one day and be someone else? Will these modifications in personality be visible to the people who’ve known me for years, or are they subsurface? Am I better or worse off than I was before? However, the truth is a bit more selfish. To be completely honest, I’ll be satisfied if the trip is nothing more than just interesting. I want to have memories I can fondly look back on when I’m too old to do this sort of thing. I want stories that’ll captivate the imaginations of my grandchildren. I want to eat food that’ll make people’s attention pique when they hear about it. So, I’ve given up trying to actively control these alterations, it’s too exhausting a task. Instead I’ll grab one of the comfy chairs, make sure my seatbelt is fastened, and passively reflect on the adventure that’s unfolding.

Here are some pics detailing my first attempt at making sushi rolls! Enjoy.