冷却ファン交換

My computer sort of died on me last week. Actually, it was the fan that died; the computer still worked as long as I left the hair dryer running on cold mode behind it. Aside from the unbearable noise it was an acceptable solution, but I took it to Tokyo for repair, anyway. The chosen place was, of course, not the Apple Store, as ¥45000 for a fan change didn’t sound too good, especially knowing that I could perform the operation myself if only it didn’t take so long to get the spare part shipped from America. So I went to this tiny, tiny place at a back alley in Akihabara and left it there. The guy at the shop was really nice–the whole thing reminded me of my desire to become a computer technician (not an engineer) while pursuing my Literature degree. I wanted to take clothes making lessons as well, but I never got to fulfill these plans because of the scholarship. So anyway, here I am now with no computer, waiting for a phone call to rush back to Tokyo, hoping that everything turns out fine in the end and I can go back to my usual compuuterized life.

These days haven’t been so hard, though. I’ve spent my time reading books, playing guitar, and even discovering new pastimes: My first attempt at bijouterie this morning has been succesful. I’m now wearing trinkets I’ve made myself!

I’m actually grateful for this obstacle, for it has taken me away from what was looking like an addiction, back to more creative endeavors.

It also helps to receive phone calls from Cavorite from time to time. This means I won’t have time to forget that voice and that laugh that stir swarms of multicolored butterflies in my stomach. Have I mentioned that he makes me so very happy? Well, he does.

The cute French TA (who suddenly lost all his charm) called upon my boss and me for a meeting about my TA job. After rambling about paperwork, he suddenly mentioned something about my salary. I’m supposed to agree that I’m being overpaid. “Are you OK with receiving this much money? Don’t you think it’s too much?” Well, why didn’t you decide that before hiring me? Why are you forcing your ill-timed point of view on me?

I can’t really write anymore about this. It’s so frustrating I’m speechless.

I lost you, but I regained myself.

Nabusimake

He always wakes up at the wrong hours, as if time were not a matter pertaining to him. Trapped in a bedroom with wooden floors by his own accord, he sings to himself.

He talks about TV as though he were encountering it for the first time in his life, and I love the fascination coming out of his pretty voice when he describes such a boring everyday thing. Enormously wide-eyed, he blushes when he hears my stupid jokes—but then he surpasses them, causing me to twitch my mouth in that silly bewildered face he finds so much fun to watch.

Our life together is a one-page story of dances through frozen food aisles, lost glasses, and strange findings of coins.

And yet, I’m starting to miss him.