In a manner truly befitting the rich cultural touchstones of my ancestors, I celebrated the Chinese New Year this weekend by going to an Italian restaurant for lunch, where I ordered a panini. That’s Italian for “sandwich,” by the way, and my hope is that while it was devoid of Asian ingredients, it was festive enough to cover my bases. In truth, I completely forgot about the holiday, until a random comment brought my negligence to light. This may partly explain why I was compelled to purchase a box of Pocky tonight–at Target, of all places–and power it down, in a kind of ethnic penance. Technically the stuff is made in Japan, if we’re being totally aboveboard here, but that’s close enough for me.
This weekend, I will be honoring my heritage in an altogether different fashion when I drive down to Greenville, South Carolina. The main purpose of this trip will be to reconnect with family friends, though reconnect is a generous term here. That’s because I don’t remember them. I must’ve been what–two, three?–the last time I saw these people. I know there are roots here, but I don’t remember them at all. It’s a strange feeling.
The brutal truth is there will be a stark inequity in this reunion–they will likely derive far more meaning from seeing me than I, them. It just doesn’t seem fair, and I suppose that’s inherent in the idea of inequity. I’d like to correct this, of course. Any good vibes thrown my way, I’d like to return in kind. There’s this concern, too, that certain things will be expected of me. What if they look to me to say grace at dinner, for instance? I’ve been drafting lines in my head all week in preparation. Certainly I’m overthinking all of this, and I have a hunch that intent, rather than the execution, is what’s important.
Does tonight’s post look relaxed to you? I hope it does. During a routine cleaning at the dentist today, I was told I’ve been grinding my teeth, a habit wholly new to me. Something–or some things–happened in the last six months to change my normally peaceful slumber into nightly anti-enamel rallies. You’ve got to understand, too, that dental check-ups are usually free of drama for me, with nary a cavity to drill, so this realization was like a punch to the gut.
I don’t feel particularly stressed. There are the usual phenomena to overcome in corporate and suburban life, to be sure, but nothing to cause such molar-shearing duress. One option, I was told, was to purchase a NightGuard, which promptly brought back memories of wearing a retainer in middle school. There are more expensive options as well, should the NightGuard prove ineffective. These options all sound equally unappealing to me, at this juncture, and instead I’m going to up the relaxation (or apathy) and just be more cognizant of when I’m clenching my jaw.
This probably goes double for when I’m playing Dead Space. This is supposed to conclude the trilogy, but at about six hours into the game, I couldn’t tell you what in fresh hell has happened on the narrative front. It’s real purty, though. The horror factor has been significantly neutered, frankly, since I’m braving it with a buddy. I’m sure I’ve also inoculated myself with my recent bingeing on the prior two entries. But during tonight’s session, I was haunted by thoughts of teeth. This level of meta-awareness was annoying, in a way, because it ruined the immersion. Imagine staring down a Lovecraftian horror and suddenly, jarringly wondering whether it grinds its teeth. It’s, like, “You have so many sharp ones, after all, and also I need to shoot off your head now.”
Call it the winter doldrums or whatever you’d like, but I’m feeling it again–out of sorts, impatient, weary at times of the company of others. Struck right out of the blue, in fact, with no discernible causes or anything, like a personalized rain cloud. It’s apparently not just in my head, too, particuarly when acute. Someone mentioned to me yesterday, for instance, that I seemed uncharacteristically anti-social. If only she knew! If only she knew.
The thing is, I’m still energized when I interact with people, so I don’t think I’ve reverted to the old ways. Besides, let’s face it: by all accounts, I should be skipping down the street in rapture. We appear to be on the tail end of the recession. I’m employed, free of the flu, and have a roof over my head. There is ample food and drink. And, shit, I’m posting to a blog here, rather than worrying about malaria or gunfire or clean water. But the facts aside, you feel what you feel, and that’s about the shape of it.
There are no panaceas here, nor am I looking for any. This is a stretch to be savored, I think, not overcome. In any case, that’s all I’ve got for you tonight. Few things will make me write a post early, but Dead Space 3 came out today, and I’ve got to suit up and report for duty with a buddy. Will cutting a thousand limbs off of ravening horrors improve my mood? Perhaps. I will need to conduct some firsthand research immediately.