Why the hell not?

It's friday afternoon right about now. I'm supposed to be editing right now but taking my time, eh. Just finished Snow Falling on Cedars. I like the book. The author clearly (it seemed to me) enjoyed describing the physical setting, the smells and feels of nature and the particulars and quirks of island life, but still doesn't compare to Steinbeck in his descriptive ability. Who cares. I enjoyed reading it and it was interesting in a minor way to read about one aspect during one world era on one island of the Japanese and Japanese-American culture since I'm flailing about at work trying o get Japanese culture, trying to grasp and understand so's I can communicate better and close sales with his most loyal clientelle. yo.

Today is grey and rainy; heavy atmospheric pressure muffles the normally sharp sunny noises of traffic and colored voices that bounce about happily. Today is a day makes my feet want to wander. My mind floats down the Waikiki boulevards out to the shoreline and hovers over quietly lapping water I imagine is empty of people; the ocean void of color flashes silvers and whites and greys under the low-riding clouds, too bright under the sun's determined blare, but successful in blocking color. It's the kind of day I love to be alone near the ocean and feel all the melancholic, sadder feelings of living. I wish I were on the Big Island right now, out at my spot on the tidal pools at dusk where the colors were relentlessly the same every evening, light pinks, blues, oranges, pale colors, pastel colors against an endless purple sky who backdropped the volatile tides, the dull flashes of tropical fish visible in the final glints of sun just on the horizon caught in between black porous lava rocks when the tide is low or flitting about busily before night time when the tide is up. The staccato rhythm of palms dancing in the bare breeze on the shore behind me. I used to frequent these rocks every night. Pick my way carefully out as far as I could go without I might get caught in a quickly rising tide. This is where I first learned of Hawaii, quietly and completely alone. Sad and afraid and lonely and naiive to the next phase of my life. But completely alone

And that's what I wish I had today. Me and the ocean and my thoughts and maybe a book or a journal (and my smokes, but that for less than one more month and then pao).

One foreigner told me today that a view like the one he had at the moment is "top of the notch."