No standards

Today I had a break between the morning and afternoon shifts, and completely forgot about filling up my tank on the way home. Part of me is worried about making it back to work with my gas gauge firmly on "E", since I only have the vaguest notion of a gas station near the house.

It's very hot and I'm very tired. I made a resolution a few days ago to blog once everyday, regardless of how long the entry was. It could be "I learned I don't like potato sandwiches" or "My roommates eat sesame paste, which looks like chalky death" or whatever; there would be no standards because the point was to kickstart the mind into doing something that wasn't related to work. The standards are out the door.

Our cat was spayed several months ago but chi Yen, our maid/landlady is convinced she's pregnant.

I wish I was a Ninja.

Wow. No sooner do I express contentment than Life hits me with...many things. It's like Life laid out a slick assortment of weaponry and selected "dingy pants", "whining cats", "spoiling lychees", "nothing in the fridge except beer", "suspicious Russian cheese", "rude security guards", "brazen cockroaches" and "unfortunate tanlines".

Okay, so Life hasn't exactly been a Greek tragedy.

What it has been is a lot of work, and work outside of work. One of the times when I do not work is when I'm riding my motorbike. One of my favourite times of day is when I'm pulling onto a particular stretch of road near my house and gun the engine as fast I dare. (Not that fast at all, mom and dad.) I can't even begin to imagine how it would feel if I had a proper motorcycle and say, Montana to tool around in. My brain can only come up with approximations like "Joan Didion called to say good job" or "Bumping in Hugh Laurie in the self-help section".

All I need to do is paint flames on my helmet so it looks like I'm going fast.

I just realized today that I'm pretty content with how things are in my life. Sure, I don't want to live in Vietnam forever, but life right now is really great. I get to speed around Hanoi on my silver motorbike, wear scuffy boots and pretend I'm Indiana Jones, eat lychees all day (at 25 cents a kilo, who wouldn't?) , live with interesting and unpredictable roommates, my Vietnamese is noticeably better and my job is something I look forward to everyday.

It figures that Vietnam is one of the only places where I can get by as a writer without also being a waiter.