It seems that everything is happening. I got the info today. I will be leaving for Japan on October 17th. I'm going to be in Osaka. I'm going to have 1 roommate and a balcony. It's weird that this still hasn't started feeling real.

It began hitting me a bit more that I'm actually leaving and doing this at the end of my last day at work yesterday. I gotta say, I'm going to miss it. This was one of the best summers I've had and it was definitely the summer I needed to have after the last two. My boss may be an idiot and some of my coworkers may be stab-worthy, but all in all, I had a damn good summer. I got to work with my two best friends. I got to hit on some damn hot girls. And I wasn't on the move all the time. I got to rest. I got a chance to just sit around and read and play video games and watch a lot of TV and smoke a lot of pot. It was a damn good summer.

And now, it's time for something completely different.

I'm sitting in a hotel room in Edison, NJ. Inuyasha is playing in the background. Harry Potter, Book 6, is lying open on the bed. I was tired about 3 hours ago, but I'm over that now and I don't know what to do with myself.

Hotels are such strange places. It's almost as if they aren't a part of the real world. Nothing real happens in a hotel room. It's all just lies and misdirections and strangers hiding in plain sight. A hotel is the definition of transience. There is nothing permanent about them at all. I doubt there are any architectural designs of any hotels in existence, because they mutate and change at a whim. Do you need a room for a night? A room for a week? A room for an hour? A room to do business? Pleasure? Passion? Guilty eating? Do you need a room to sort out your life? Escape your life? Put it on hold? We've got it all, and we'll even clean up after you. You can do whatever you want and the traces will be wiped clean in the morning by someone who can't speak English and is still dreaming of a better life in America, if only they could get there...

I think I need to step away from the keyboard. Step away from this type of thinking. I've been away for too long and it's hard to keep the babble away from the prose. I'm out of practice. I can't sort my thoughts. I can't find the ones I want, and I can't articulate many of the thoughts that I do find. I can see that last paragraph evolving into a short story, or more. I can see myself, some time in the future, settling down to finally be serious about writing. At that time, I'm going to have to find a place like this, a hotel room, a short-term apartment, a bench in a park. I need to find a place that is nothing more than a stop on the road. I need a place that is nothing but a transition. That is where I will do my writing. That is where I can be at my best. Anything more permanent and I get lax. One day. One day, I will check into a hotel room that overlooks a baren plain in the vast middle of this nation that I call home and I will write something that will amaze me, and, with luck, amaze a few other people. I'm looking forward to that day, and until then, I'll be taking notes.