clean cup clean cup move down move down.

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last seen: reeling

29 december 1996 12:50 p.m.

'Tis the season for something, all right. In the vaults of psychological knowledge, there's got to be a name for the awkward six-day stretch between Christmas and New Year's Day. The time when it seems like everyone's hidden neuroses surface, when a nagging whisper haunts the darkest crevice of everyone's brain, when we sense a huge significance to every step we take but grow faint when we try to distill it... On every face, I see the look of a soul on the verge of some great enlightenment, as if frozen in a nervous, perhaps guilty anticipation that refuses to be realized. Everyone seems to be stricken with it -- whatever "it" is. But putting a finger on it is no more achievable than grabbing a rainbow. Much of the picture, I suppose, is the implied "deadline" Dec. 31 sets for everyone. This deadline, unfortunately, also afflicts procrastinators. For some, it's dressed in depression, while others overflow with unchecked merriment. For me, it's constantly shifting colors, a swirling galaxy of spiritual syrups -- wisdom, impatience, serenity, foolish judgement, hope, contentedness, hesitation, rebirth, regret, frustration and a thousand other flavors. No matter where I go, conversations seem to go cold prematurely. No matter how courteous and friendly we know we have to be -- especially at this time of the year -- it's like we're all being distracted by internal conversations with ourselves. Half the people I walk up to are lost in thought, and I feel obliged to say, "Sorry to interrupt..." At work, over lunch, most of us have become resigned to getting lost in our respective innerspaces. A Santa mug, holding a quickly aging collection of Chupa Chups and candy canes, becomes the unwitting focus of a dozen eyes glazed over with meditation. When I'm not spacing myself, I look around the table and wonder what everyone's thinking about. A million things apiece, all different. It's overwhelming. Or whatever. Everyone's gone weird and it's freaking me out. Mass zoning is part of the ritual of late December, I guess. Every person's last twelve months gets an end-of-the-year review, but unlike those by employers or colleagues, this evaluation comes from the hardest possible critic. For me, 1996 was an "up year" -- mostly because of "downs." I've only been fired twice (down two from '95) and racked up one ex (compared to four last year). Car accidents and movings are both down one to one each this year. Come to think of it, barring any acts of God or insane stupidity, this New Year's will find me in the unusual position of having a stable job I like and a stable guy I like. Of course, technically I'll be down ten credits compared to last January, and my GPA will at best hold steady (wherever it is), but since my view of the importance college has also declined, those stats are pretty moot. I consider myself fortunate in that I am usually optimistic about a new year. I'm more prone to regrets than most, granted, but I avoid the worst of it by staying far away from the dangerous tradition of setting resolutions. (Which is not to say I don't make lists like everyone else.) Apart from cleaning my apartment top to bottom -- a tendency rooted in the Japanese side of me that refuses to be suppressed -- the only thing I have to do before Tuesday is figure out where I'll be at midnight. Word of the Day: "year" makahiki (ma- ka- hee- kee) Olakino maika`i ko `oukou i ka makahiki hou. "May you all have good health in the new year." (Health good [posessive] you-all [dative] the year new.) Dinner with Derek's family Christmas Eve was great. Frankly it was like being in the middle of a three ring circus (which is exactly what his mom whispered to me when things were particularly insane). Two floors of relatives and friends sitting on any surface that wouldn't break (or hadn't yet been broken) carrying on more conversations, it seemed, than people. A handful of kids tore around laughing and shrieking while slightly older siblings scolded them, who were in turn scolded by parents. The tree was toppled not once but twice by cousin Drew (another "D"!), who'd just started walking and was making the most of it. Everyone kept commenting that I was being so quiet, but I was very much enjoying being in the middle of the madness. At about the moment I started to get a headache (I believe it was when someone tuned in "Homeboys from Outer Space"), someone said there was something worth noting about the full moon that night. So Derek and I snuck out into the cold `Aiea air and stared up at the sky for a while. Eventually people started hugging and heading home, and I helped clean up. My reward was a big platter of ham, fried noodles, and three-quarters of an apple pie. I'll live off it for a while, but knowing me it'll all have to go with the other relics in my fridge come Tuesday. Midnight came, and with it, presents. Derek got me a Hawaiian Ku`uipo bracelet (which I've always wanted but had never said so) and "Last Chance to See," the only Douglas Adams book I haven't finished (I lost my copy). He, in turn, fit the sweater I'd gotten him perfectly, and bubbled over the Marvin pocketwatch I added at the last minute. His 'rents had a gift for me too (despite an earlier agreement not to get any) -- a nifty curling hairbrush that runs off a canister of butane. I had mentioning how cool it was when I saw a commercial for it while I was over, and I guess they remembered. Many happy sighs, hugs and kisses followed. I slept 'til about ten Christmas Day, to find an absolutely perfect sunny blue day waiting outside. I walked down to the beach and sat for a while, not at all sore that I couldn't make a snowman. Although I did briefly toy with the idea of building a sandman... The Official Christmas Dinner with mom was as quiet as ever. We sat in the living room listening to Mozart and eating chicken, veggies and rice. I also made a batch of plain cold somen, which I finished inside of half an hour. The holiday mindtrips were in full effect, with the evening generally progressing as follows: Mom: Another year... Me: Mmmm. [Slow nod.] Mom: Mmmm. Yeah. [Ten seconds of thoughtful silence.] Me: Mmmm. Eventually, we exchanged our presents. I got her a blue jade-esque vase -- an exact match of one I broke last year -- and she got me a big steel pot (you can never have too many pots) and the traditional holiday Thanks-for-Moving-Out check. I do so very much love my mother. She got calls from work friends, I took a nap, and with that, my Christmas wafted gently into memory. Another symptom of the holiday season is the insane rushing. I have the sensation of scrambling to do a million-and-one things, but at the end of every day, I feel like I've accomplished less and less. Not that I've really been doing a heck of a lot. Thursday: Worked. Ate leftovers for lunch. Ate leftovers for dinner. Got lassoed into seeing "The Evening Star" as pseudo-chaperone for Walt and Kellie. Friday: Worked. Ate leftovers for lunch. Met up with Derek and ate ice cream for dinner. Rented "The Last Supper." Stayed up too late. Yesterday: Slept. Ate leftovers. Today: More sleep. Tonight, "The English Patient." It's two days to the new year... do you know where you are? Hau`oli Makahiki Hou -- Happy New Year. Bring on the madness... again!