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Straight out of martial arts class to Airport Lounge for the open call for models for the next shoot. Indirectly flirting with gogo dancers, they’re models and model managers and fashion show organizers, and hot damn they may need another photog. Trade cards, wear the business face, polite goodbye and it’s down the the Pub to pick up a copy of CityBeat to check out the print version. In and out, one beer, hi’s and bye’s and congrats and back home and asleep somewhere between door and bed.

Wake up, two snooze buttons followed by brief meditation and Grand Pillars. Relish the moments of stillness. In the shower, back out, 95mph all the way to work. Slam through the workday, add in AES CTR mode support, grab a burrito and mark up the chapter about Germany. Back into work, push metric shit-tons of data through the new chip, back out at 5:30pm. Down to Korova as fast as traffic will take me, study Japanese for a several hours. Omoshiroii. Shite. Yasashikunai. Overhear a patron discussing the curation of a show, slide on the business mask. Not looking for photogs for the next show, fuck, switch gears and pimp a friend of mine who’d fit the theme. Trade cards, back to Japanese, interrupted a half our later saying she loves my composition and wants me in the next photo show when it rolls around. “Did you know the difference between ‘husband’ and ‘prisoner’ in Japanese is the extension of a single vowel sound?”

U-turn to the market, grab the last six of Harp and trot over to Ted’s. Potcheen and Harp, hanging with some friends I haven’t seen in a while. Excuse myself to meet up with G—— late night, abridged, opting out of 4th and B, citing training and a final as reasons. Quick kiss and I’m off home. Bread, cheese, and a multi-vitamin before bed to keep the rumbles down.

Pop out of bed early for a Saturday, jaunt to the park for some training; sweat and salt and sore muscles. Return home – uchi ni kaerimasu, that’s the phrase I’m looking for – shower and find whatever Japanese I can: kutsu, kagi, and an aoi shirt. I plunk my damaged jacket down at the leather shop for a repair – a long story that shouldn’t and probably won’t ever be told – and sit at the counter for asa-gohan. Scrambled eggs and bacon and kohii, kohii and more coffee, pouring over Ireland and multiplexing in katakana.

Down the street to Korova, unleashing the entirety of my backpack to the floor and table. Several hours of Japanese, a business call, two friendly calls. Reassurance from Lance I’ll do just fine on my black belt test. Fuck, more training, must train tonight, tomorrow, I need to bleed the art. “It’s not a black belt test if someone doesn’t go to the hospital.” “I’m just hoping it’s someone else.” Back inside, a cute girl next to me, sporadic conversation and numbers traded before her departure. Hmm, cute, cool, world-wise, liberal … and back to Japanese, finding saturation, forced to shift again, back to Europe. Add Bucharest and Budapest to the list. Download the exchange rates and average temperatures, plug them into the spreadsheet.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Why?”

“You do so much shit.”

“There’s a lot of shit I want to do. I enjoy doing shit._”

“It’s just … amazing.”

“Nah. I just don’t see any reason why I can’t do anything. Fuck can’t. Can’t is no fun. Make it will. Will is a whole hell of a lot more fun. Will the future, it’s I will, and will-power, and it’s some fucking document I’m not gonna worry about because I’m too busy doing shit. Think Tom Robbins, think yuck and yum. Fuck yuck. Will is yum.”

“Fuckin’ crazy.”

”Yum.”