Pulse

I wonder if I'll always remember that feeling of panic I had two weeks ago, when I arrived on the island.  I somehow had forgotten to pack my Rx, and only discovered this when I reached my claustrophia inducingly small hotel room. I frantically went through every pocket and crevasse of every bag, fearfully imagining what the vacation would be like in a constant state of narcoleptic haze.

I had fortunately at least had a backup, a year old expired 5mg version that required me to dose myself every few hours 3 to 4 times a day instead of one sweet 20mg steady-state ride that I'd become used to.  Even so, it wasn't until I carefully thought and carefully counted them out before I started to calm down.  But I'm not a junkie, I told myself, it's a necessity.

I didn't use as much as I thought I would need to, although many days I blamed the lack of the steady-state version of the drug for overeating, as one of the wonderful side effects and off book uses is appetite control.  If you have higher levels of dopamine in your brain, you just don't feel as hungry.  This is why exercise not only burns calories, but can prevent you from wanting so badly to replace them immediately.  I envy people with naturally high levels, even as I recall being one of them in my skinny youth.

Soon I will be home, and back on the full dosage.  And, as always, I will be vigilantly examining my mental self to see what it is doing to me.  That aspect of my personality will likely not change.

Friends in Far Places

Tonight I returned to the cafe, always a social occasion. Tonight E, the cafe's owner, wasn't feeling well, as she's been overdoing the exercise. That's actually according to plan, she explained, as she is in the fifth week of this P90X program.

I spent most of the evening happily chatting with Bill and Judy, Michiganers that spend about 3 months of the year on the island. E introduced me to them as being from nearby in Canada. I said that I'm really located closer to Montana or North Dakota, but since we were all staying within a few blocks of each other on the south part of the island, "hi neighbour!" We all chuckled warmly at that...

They said that for 48 years they've wanted to move to Hawaii, but still call Michgan home. Besides, their kids are spread out across the mainland, from a daughter (with very young kids of her own, their grandkids) nearby in Michigan, to a son in Denver, to a single daughter in Seattle.

Bill's a 73 year old ukelele enthusiastic (he plays with several bands and suggested I try to track down a CD from Jake Shimabukuro, the celebrated Japanese artist), and former financial advisor. Judy told a story about how he came to own 3 ukeleles, "can you believe it?"

"Well, I suppose that's reasonable," I said, "I have 3 guitars after all, an acoustic, two electric."

"Yes," said Bill, "they each have their own unique sound. Two have four strings, one has six." He went on to explain the tunings, and how he was thinking about getting an eight string.

I also learned that his first time in Hawaii was in 1956, on his way to Korean military duty. He was originally slated to do something mundane in an army base in Wisconsin, but requested something more adventurous. He was told that it may be possible to go to Europe, or East Asia, likely Japan. He was in luck, and was able to swap destinations, although obviously with the slight change to a tour of duty in post-war Korea instead of Japan.

He spoke of the classic artists such as Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, and how they were a dying breed, and I said that there were always more on the way such as Justin Bieber (Judy had heard of him), and the Facebook/YouTube sensation, that Lady-Ga-Ga-covering high-school prodigy.  Arguably neither may be Frank Sinatra-esque, but pop stars are always rising.

Time and again we shared and echoed a positive outlook on life (something that perhaps seems ironic given my more common themes when blogging)... his mantra was that one should not take oneself too seriously, while I think I went on the most about how one must actively live life in order to life a long life.

All in all it was a good evening, the kind I can pretty much count on when I visit E's cafe.  It's just a uniquely friendly place...

Another Day

Today I milked a goat, and an attractive single woman took my picture for me while I was milking.  I also tried to ask said woman if she had plans for dinner, and failed miserably.  Like "I feel like a stalker now" miserably.

I went to the beach.  I cried from loneliness, on the beach.  People looked the other way, as they tend to do in such situations.

I thought to myself that wind-surfing would at least be a cool way to go, if one were feeling suicidal.  Instead of acting on the whim, I simply stayed put until I could feel a good sunburn finally coming on.

I ate crispy duck fajitas at a cafe near the beach.  The food was good, but the restauranteurs played a slow, mellow, 8-minute version of "No Woman No Cry" twice in a row.  It was some sort of perverse joke on their part, but I only cried during the first playing as I was busy eating during the second.

I went for a Thai-style massage.  She brushed the beach sand off of me, did her thing, and an hour later I was very relaxed, nearly asleep, and slightly incoherent.  For awhile near the end I forgot about the epic fail, the sadness, and the day.  But then I had to start the car and head back "home".

It was another day of my life gone, albeit on vacation.  Another day.