August 2017 – Page 2 – hannah ananas

Whoops…!

Feminine stuff coming… beware 😛

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When we are little, wetting the bed is a common thing. It is even acceptable and expected up to a certain age. Eventually, though, without any definite limitation, we reach an age where bed-wetting is just not a thing anymore. We have grown out of it, just as we were expected to do. I feel as though getting blood on one’s underwear is a similar situation. When we are young teenagers, it is all too common (and expected) for use to have leaks and errors of judgement that lead to menstruation making its mark on a pair of underwear or dozen, and maybe even a few pairs of pants and/or skirts and shorts. However, at some point in time, at an undefined age, we grow out of such a thing. We are accustomed enough to the circumstances of menstruation, that we no longer have this think called leaking onto our underwear. We grow up.

And yet, here I am, a good decade past that approximate age, washing out blood-spotted undies. And it isn’t even that it was the sudden start of my period unexpectedly, and so I was unprepared. I already wear pantyliners for regular discharge, – we all have it, and I truly don’t understand how women manage to be comfortable every day with it rubbing around and into their underwear all day long – and so am, in a way, always prepared for the start of my period. The thing is, I actually forget about my period while I am on it.

Now, I am truly grateful that I have such a comfortable period that I am even able to forget that I have it while I have it. It just has me suddenly realize that my pantyliner in full of blood, and, ‘Oh, goodness, when did I put that last tampon in?’ Really, the only concern is getting blood all over the place (not that that’s great or anything, but still…), so that isn’t half bad in the long run. I just all too often get blood all over the place on my undies. In a way, I suppose I’m used to it, because I forget so often (at least, I used to forget really often, and it has slowed down some now, but it still happens regularly). I even have (or had until this past year) certain underwear that I wear on certain days of menstruation, because they are older, and they can handle a date with blood (as opposed to my newer and/or nicer underwear). They are usually the only ones that are getting close to being thrown out, but are holding up enough physically to be used still.

I think I’ve only had one or two , possibly three occasions a year, really, in which I’ve had to clean out blood from underwear these past couple/few years. So, I’ve definitely improved from how often I had to do it before then (every month, multiple times a period). That still doesn’t change the part where I’d kind of hoped, thought, expected to be past this altogether. Maybe once or twice in a decade, as part of an extreme accident of some sort. But not so regularly that I still typically wear my period underwear on those certain strong flow days every time. Meh… whatevs. It is what it is. Here’s to being good at cleaning underwear!

Post-a-day 2017

Freedom’s Indecision

The trouble with having freedom in my future is that freedom can sometimes means too many options to focus. Right now, I know what I am doing for the next six weeks. After that, I’m really not sure. My current job will be finished, and so my life is open to options from there on out. What will I do next? I have total freedom (within the bounds of financial abilities, of course). And with that freedom comes an uncountable number of possibilities for what I could end up doing.

It feels like I have a new path I am considering pursuing almost every day. One almost could ask me, “What’s today’s fancy, Hannah?” And I’d have a different answer almost every day. A week ago, I wasn’t too sure about my cat, and I found myself wondering that I rather preferred his living with a family with other cats, and who wants him. This weekend, I have felt as though all I want is to move into my own apartment and to live with my cat again. (Despite the fact that I said several times this past year that I probably never want to live alone again.)

Talking with my stepbrother tonight, I find myself really wanting to pursue coaching and teaching. It has me wonder if I don’t just get excited about other people’s dreams and their passions, and I long to have the dream, the desire, the passion that they have about something, as opposed to the actual something. Do I want to coach and teach, or do I simply want the clear desire and love that my stepbrother showed for the two activities tonight? To be fair, I really did love coaching lacrosse (assistant coaching, anyway), so I’m not looking at something in which I have no background or foundation here. Nonetheless, it is still something into which I am looking regarding my future and my means of making money.

Anyway, … that’s what I have for tonight…

Post-a-day 2017

I can’t walk right…

I walk on the wrong side, too. Whenever I’m on the stairs, or even if I end up in a sidewalk/hallway sort of situation most times, I don’t even realize that I’m in the left side until I reach oncoming traffic. At those times, I resort to my Japan automatic behavior of scooting simply to the middle of the stairwell, as opposed to switching sides entirely. While escalators and roads were set sides, stairwells and walkways often had signed alternate setups for walking (due to high traffic in train stations and such), so I regularly was too confused when either there weren’t signs or people united them. It quickly became a habit of mine, especially at school, just to put myself in the middle of the stairwell, and to let people go around me as they pleased.

And now I find myself always starting on the left side, and pushing quickly to the center as people approach, just like in Japan. I find it amazing, the habits we build in life.

Post-a-day 2017

the wrong side of the road…?

I have been three days riding my bike (bicycle) now, and I still am not fully accustomed to it. A car was a reasonably easy adjustment, because the driver seat is on the opposite side of the car, making it significantly easier just to flip everything for the road. I also have spent hours upon hours driving in the US, and only a handful of days doing it in Japan. Bicycling, however, is a rather different story.

I spent a good number of days riding my bike part of the way to work at my last US job, and I used my bicycle for a good amount of my getting around town (combined with the local busses). But that in no way adds up to how much I have driven in Houston. In fact, I think it is quite likely that I actually spent more time riding my bike on the roads in Japan than I ever have in Houston. I think I’ve spent more calendar days using a bicycle on the roads in the US – I’m saying “on the roads”, because I know I have spent more time and more calendar days using a bicycle in the US than in any other country, but not necessarily as an alternative to a car as a means of transportation – than in Japan, but the days I spend riding in Japan included a LOT of road time every time I went to and from work.

All that said, despite however terribly it may have been said, I have spent a lot of time riding my bicycle on the left side of the road, following traffic in Japan this past year. This means that I kind of have a really strong habit of getting to the left side of the road whenever I ride. I have consciously pushed to the right these past few days, but it has been tough. Especially when there are no moving cars around, I really struggle. I find myself already going to the left side, before it clicks that that’s the wrong side here. (Hey, I’m glad it does click, though, and fast!)

As I approached a road with a huge median in it yesterday morning, and there were no visible moving cars on the nearer side of it, I suddenly discovered how much my instincts have been “messed with”, so to speak. I truly had no idea which way to check for traffic, as I approached the road (I was on a path perpendicular to the road.). Even though it seemed like no cars were around, I went ahead and stopped at the edge, because I wanted to figure this out. After a handful of seconds, during which I get quite silly and out of place, a car came along on the far side of the road, the opposite side of the median from me. It was coming from the right. Unfortunately, that didn’t have anything click for me – there was no Aha! moment for me, and I was disappointed. However, I am smart, and so I immediately deduced that cars must come from the left on the side by me, if they’re coming from the right on the far side of the road. I was just a bit bummed that I was having to deduce, instead of just suddenly remembering and knowing.

On a handful of other occasions, – possibly two or three handfuls, actually – I have found myself heading to the left side of the bike trail or the road, but it is always under the same circumstances: I am alone, and I am turning. So, if I keep that in mind, and just focus whenever I’m about to turn, I’ll be in good shape in no time. (As if I haven’t been thinking this all week already…)

Anyway, just thought I’d share all of that, because it’s kind of fun (to me, anyway).

Post-a-day 2017

The pleasurable nose blow

Think of the last time you blew your nose? Was it one of those quiet, sneaky-type nose blows, as though you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re blowing your nose? Or was it one of those really satisfying ones, where it isn’t exactly loud, but it is full?

I almost exclusively do the latter, and it always feels amazing. As I blew my nose for the third time after eating this Banh Mi (Vietnamese sandwich) with some deliciously and painfully nice jalapeños sliced in it, I began considering the feeling after blowing my nose. Do you know the one I mean? In an almost sort of daze, I take my first breath through my freshly freed nose, and possibly share the intake of breath with my mouth, and then almost sigh the air out of me, releasing some unknown tension, somewhere in my body. I usually end up mostly breathing out of my mouth afterward, and just allow my nose to rest – this light come from the feeling of blowing my nose when it is really stuffed up and runny, and blowing it seems only to clear out one set of mucus and snot in order to make space for the immediate arrival of another. In those cases, the feeling and experience are almost the same. It is a hazy happiness of release and deep breathing (usually through the mouth) that feels almost magical. I almost even have an urge to cyclist my eyes at times, and to indulge momentarily in the after effects of the nose-blowing.

If you have no idea what I am referencing here, give it a try some time. Blow your nose really satisfyingly hard (the emphasis of really being on satisfyingly, not hard), and take the time to pay attention to the experience immediately following. If you still don’t get it, then oh, well… I’ll enjoy the experience enough for us both.

And then some…

Post-a-day 2017

Undies

I wore the wrong underwear today.

I don’t mean that I wore the wrong style for my pants (though that kind of happened, too), or that they were too tight for what I was doing, or that they were the wrong style or anything like that. I mean that I wore Thursday underwear, the wrong day of the week.

Today has been Wednesday. I saw the Thursday underwear on Monday night, along with the Monday underwear – in case you haven’t gathered, these are days-of-the-week underwear – in my bag of bras and underwear from my suitcase. Seeing as how Monday was almost finished, I didn’t want to put on Monday underwear. I wanted Tuesday underwear. (And I almost thought I had found it, too.). However, it was not easily visible near the top of the bag. And Inwasnt going to wear Thursday underwear on Tuesday. So my next best option was to wait for Wednesday night’s shower, so I could put on the Thursday underwear to wear Thursday.

That was the plan.

I looked down at my underwear today, and what did I see? Thursday underwear. And, for most of the day, I was totally comfortable with that. Only until, of course, the moment that I realized that, as I have already mentioned, today has been Wednesday. Not Thursday, but Wednesday.

Are you kidding me? I even declined the underwear for Tuesday, because that wasn’t the right day. Ugh. !!!! Haha

So, throughout the day, it wouldn’t surprise me if girls got glances of the beautiful “#tbt” printed all around my waistband. Not would it surprise me if they not only wondered at the obvious fact that I have and wear days-of-the-week underwear, but that I was wearing the wrong day today. I know I would wonder at it, if I saw it!

Tomorrow is just pink with some orange and some polka dots on the borders. No concerns about days and dates on these!

Post-a-day 2017

Am I insane yet?

Have you ever felt as though you were going insane? I have been in the US for four days now. I feel like I am losing it. I have conversations, and I struggle to maintain focus. People tell me things, and I have only a vague memory of what wa said to me, without actually being able to remember anything concrete from the communication. A coworker told me her name today, and I consciously felt as though I had completely lost her name. However, when I threw out what felt to be a random guess at her name, the guess was correct.

Whether I am actually losing it, or I am merely living in a different state of consciousness relating to memory, I am not certain. I am almost certain that it is all mainly due to the fact that my brain has not adjusted to the 14-hour difference in life here yet, nor to the constant English all around me, the combination of which puts me into a real state of confusion as my brain attempts to pay full attention to every bit of English it hears.

It really just makes me feel like I might simply be going crazy. I know that I’m not. It just feels like insanity settling into my head.

Post-a-day 2017

Bathroom thoughts

I have developed a new concept regarding bathroom sinks lately. I have resisted the idea for the past few months, I guess, and rather regularly. However, I think I have somewhat resisted the idea for the past several years, off and on. And now, obviously, I am acknowledging the idea. The idea is this: Why do we use the same sink for washing our hands after using the toilet as we do to brush our teeth?

This could seem harmless at first glance, so I explain. We use the bathroom, and then wash our hands. We do this to remove the ghastly germs that come from our own wastes. In the process, we touch the knobs of the faucet. As we wash our hands, some of the germs likely splash around on the sink basin, and possibly even onto the edges or countertop around the basin. Fast-forward to another, say, twenty minutes later, when it is time to brush out teeth. We touch the same knobs on the faucet. We rub the bristles of the toothbrush with the fingers that grabbed the faucet knob. We bang our toothbrush on the edge of the sink, possibly even set it there. And we put our face quite close to the sink to rinse out our mouth.

Recall that this is the same sink that might or might not be splattered with poo germs.

Anyway, that is a thought I aim to remove from my brain whenever I am using the bathroom sink. It sometimes goes away, but has recently taken what seems to be a semi-permanent residence over to the side in my mind, not quite bothering me, but watching carefully, as though for an opportunity to jump in and WHAM! get me. Fun thoughts, huh? 😛

Post-a-day 2017

beach day

Today, my first full day back in the USA, we went to the beach. I had planned to spend some time by and in the pool in my mom’s backyard, so as to acclimate myself to this time zone, using the sunlight on my skin as the main helper. But, when I went downstairs to find food to heal my headache, my mom suggested the beach. Obviously, the answer was yes.

My cousin, who lives in Galveston, walked down to meet us at the beach with her pup. I had a wonderful time just hanging out with her and my mom and the dog. We walked, we swam, we boogie boarded, we tossed a stick for the dog, and we, above all, chatted. We didn’t talk about much, which is something that I noticed much earlier on today, but we did talk. It were as though we were all really close, and we saw one another all the time, that we didn’t have much anything important to discuss. It was like we were just hanging out for our regular hangout time… which we don’t actually have, but hopefully you get the point.

We had a wonderful lunch afterward, and then my mom and I headed home to grab the rest of my stuff, and to head out to check my new bicycle’s height, before going to my friend’s house (where I’ll be staying for about six weeks). My friend and her husband were super stellar when we arrived this afternoon, and they have been just wonderful so far since then. I think I’m gonna like it here.

Post-a-day 2017

Getting to the airport

So, I still hate living in Japan, and it reminded me of this fact on my way to the airport this morning. However, I also still truly love parts of this place and culture. My trip to the airport reminded me of this fact, too.

As I struggled with three rolling bags and a guitar (I know, I know – stupid. But it was unavoidable.), the terrible signage and lack of findable elevators was driving me insane, along with the constant rumble strips for hard-of-seeing individuals (I don’t blame anyone for that – it merely added to my struggle, is all, with the suitcase wheels constantly getting stuck in them.).

So, rather than just being able to take an elevator to the right level, and walk flat to my airport train, and then take a second elevator down, I took what felt like an insane route, due to poor signage. Struggling to exit the final tiny escalator (width-wise tiny), and get my stuff out of the way for the people behind me, I was totally I surprised to find myself outside with rain. Yes, the whole station connects in a covered and underground area. But this was the only path I could take, based on signs (which I know is false information, because I’ve been to the same area before, just from a different direction). I finally gave up attempting to pull both big bags at once (one had the smaller rolling bag on top of it, and was somewhat impossible to manage off smooth, flat terrain), and just left one sitting near the escalator. I trudged through the rain with the two bags, and wasn’t even sure how far I would go before turning back for the other bag. I was unconcerned about leaving my bag, though, because 1) this is Japan, 2) it’s freakin’ heavy and hard to move, and 3) some station staff were standing right near it, and they saw me leave it there in my struggle.

I could tell the station staff guys were a bit concerned about my bag, so, when I found a spot covered from the rain, just around the corner, I propped my two bags against the wall, and started heading back for the other bag. Of course, there were no signs for the train line I wanted, but that was no surprise – this is Japan.

As I came around the corner, however, one of the old men station workers was heading my way with my bag. I thanked him in Japanese, and started to go to take the bag from him, but he asked in adorable English (meaning I understood, but it was not really correct at all) if I were taking the Narita Express. I said that I was, and he just nodded, kept walking, and pointed up the escalator to the left. I quickly grabbed my other bags and followed.

The big bags barely fit on the even smaller escalator we were using, but we managed. At the top, I expected he might return my bag to me, but he again kept walking ahead of me, showing me the way to a train whose signs I still couldn’t find.

Remember that this is Japan (as if you could forget), so, of course, we came to a staircase now. No alternate route. None. But we took an escalator to where we were, so it makes perfect sense for only stairs to follow. But then, the upside of Japan came again, and a young-ish guy helped us carry the bags up the stairs, once he saw the station worker attempting to pick up one of my bags, as I carried another up with the guitar. I heard the station worker comment to the guy that I was alone and carrying all three suitcases, and I smiled – people really can be super sweet here. I in no way deny that.

So we continued on, and found our ticket barrier for the train. I still had to buy a ticket, so he asked the window worker, and she sent me to the machines. Unfortunately, the 7:13 train that was about to leave didn’t have any tickets available on the machine. The next was at 8:00-ish, which started to put me into a panic. I quickly asked about the 7:13 train, and my old man asked the window people for me. Yet another station worker came from the window, and started tapping at the machine screen for me a few moments later. Eventually, despite various issues, I got a ticket for the 7:13. At least, it would let me on the 7:13.

Again, I heard the conversation happening about my being hitori desu! and mitsu desu ne. The worker who helped me get my ticket then took over for the old man from the other section of the station, and took one of my big bags for me. I thanked the old man profusely, and marveled one last time at his light blue eyes. He wished me luck and courage.

I got stuck in the ticket barrier. Yes, literally, because the one bag was too wide, and so the lady let me go back and bring my bag through the side area. However, that meant that my ticket was eaten by the machine, since I didn’t make it all the way through the barrier. And I only had so many minutes before the train.

The lady rushed over and opened up the ticket barrier, pulled out my ticket from a bin, and handed it to me, wishing me luck and courage, as well. I thanked her greatly, and started rushing after the worker who’d taken my other bag.

We had just barely five minutes, and I could tell we had far to go, simply by the fact that he was checking his watch and hurrying along so quickly. The long corridor that greeted us as we rounded a corner made me a bit more nervous. We rushed down the walkway, though, and he eventually declared that it would be okay. He led me to an elevator (phew!), and we went down to the track. The whole time, he had been talking with me, chatting about my stay and whatnot, and then telling me about where I could sit on the train. Some good final practice for my Japanese, I suppose. It was really nice to have someone to chat with me casually, though, especially with the physical stress and mental workout that had been going on so far today (and that still awaited).

He helped me on the train, showed me the secret seats in the wall, and wished me safety and good health. After a few minutes on the train, the ticket checker guy who’d seen us get on came out of his little room and smiled at me as he walked past. A few moments later, he came back and summoned me silently with the Japanese wave. I followed, and he offered me a real seat in the cabin. I thanked him, and collapsed into the seat.

Now, a bit of snacking and a bathroom break later, I am almost to the airport. I don’t know how much my bags weigh. One is for sure okay, the other concerns me a bit. I’ve never measured 70lbs before, so I don’t know how that feels. I’m a rather good judge for 50lbs, though, and my second checked bag is right close to 50. My carry-on is way heavy. But it might still be okay. We shall see…

I still have to cancel my phone contract at the store, too. And get through security with my Fuji-San hiking stick. And make it on the plane, of course. So, let’s hope for the best here, eh?

Fingers crossed!
P.S. Oh. And, as a side note, I happen to be sick right now, too. It all started with the whole smoking at dinner the other night. My throat started burning then, and hasn’t stopped since.

Post-a-day 2017