What's Chinese for Polaski?

Nothing. I don't translate. I'm not funny. I don't laugh. I don't make up random songs and I haven't shaken my ass but once. It's like the land void of joy. Not that I expected a party. I was after zen. I expected a lighter than self feeling being on the opposite side of the planet from all I know and all that knows me. So far I just feel itchy. Probably that's the eighteen thousand bug bites talking. Or maybe...it's attitude. 

I suppose another error was the expectation of jaw dropping inspiration. That hasn't happened. At least not artistically.  But it's like I've always never said, first come the life revelations, then the artsy ones. What I've learned is, I like my life. Not that I couldn't have put my finger on that before, but I didn't know I liked it compared to life in a small, Taiwanese town . . . . alone. 

One month. One month since I wasn't sweating. What have the past thirty days taught me? Full answer unknown but so far it's that Taiwan isn't so different. Also, it's way different. Instead of squirrels you have lizards. Instead of coffee you have tea. Instead of a single family home with spouse and slap happy fur balls, you have a dorm room complete with roommate, bunk bed, and group bathroom. Speaking of bathrooms, make sure you bring your own toilet paper, and hand soap, and drying apparatus. To every bathroom. Always. 

I think part of why people often go abroad is to learn that they are capable of doing something random and uncomfortable. Turns out, I already knew that about myself. So what am I doing here? The answer, for now, is to listen to the Talking Heads and make the pots. 

That's right I said pots.