When I was walking home from Judo today, I was in a superbly good mood. Judo was an unqualified success-- I think I'm finally making friends, starting to understand what other people are saying somewhat better (but only somewhat), got to do a bunch of sparring (which I'm absolutely terrible at-- it's awesome) and grappling (which I'm moderately better at, but not much), and even got to punch the punching back they have attached to the wall. (Knuckle conditioning, here I come.)
Thusly thinking about what to write about when I got home (for example, how do I introduce the fact that running around in underwear is, in fact, the norm for these Russian men? Is it worth bringing up that they really do backflips as part of their warm up every class? Should I mention the fact that I successfully forced myself to at least TRY with everything except the backflips, even if it meant nearly face-planting and doing a proper front break fall in front of the entire class?) and singing the song "Kung Fu Fighting" out loud to myself, I happily made my way home. Upon seeing a path that looked exactly like the one earlier today, I headed down it, not thinking about the time it would have taken me to get home, nor the odd lack of my normal landmarks.
I should explain: I mentioned that I overthink things a lot. This has the unfortunate tendency to make me totally zone out. And when this happens, usually the results are embarrassing and hilarious.
Like when I got lost on a walk home that literally should have looked something like this:
Without thinking about it, the moment I saw the familiar path, I started down towards what I knew should be home. Humming to myself, I vaguely took note as I passed through familiar landmarks: the giant archway I have to walk through to get to my apartment building; the jungle gym in the side courtyard right before I reach the door. Except that, when I got to the door, there was one problem: Somehow, the buttons I have to push to unlock the outermost door and the handle to pull directly afterwards were switched in location, so that the one normally on top was on the bottom, and vice versa.
Finally, I was pulled out of my happy reverie and realized that I was in... the Twilight Zone.
The playground was like the playground outside my apartment, except that in the shadows, I could see young saplings planted all around it; the archway to the courtyard looked exactly the same, except that unlike ours, it was in perfect condition; I walked around the side to see a curving curb, just like the one outside of the other entryway to our building, except that unlike ours, it was all in one piece and not as smashed up; where there were normally just trees, there was a building with an impressive looking fence. Everything was exactly like the set-up to my apartment, and yet...
And yet every time I would look at something, there were one or two details that weren't quite right.
I had an existential crisis. And by that, I mean that I simply followed the way I would normally leave my apartment, and walked back onto the street. (The layout was exactly the same, after all.)
Apparently, I had turned too early, which looks something like this:
Today, I further lost my dignity; but in return, I was given a chance to see... the Twilight Zone.
Thusly thinking about what to write about when I got home (for example, how do I introduce the fact that running around in underwear is, in fact, the norm for these Russian men? Is it worth bringing up that they really do backflips as part of their warm up every class? Should I mention the fact that I successfully forced myself to at least TRY with everything except the backflips, even if it meant nearly face-planting and doing a proper front break fall in front of the entire class?) and singing the song "Kung Fu Fighting" out loud to myself, I happily made my way home. Upon seeing a path that looked exactly like the one earlier today, I headed down it, not thinking about the time it would have taken me to get home, nor the odd lack of my normal landmarks.
I should explain: I mentioned that I overthink things a lot. This has the unfortunate tendency to make me totally zone out. And when this happens, usually the results are embarrassing and hilarious.
Like when I got lost on a walk home that literally should have looked something like this:
 |
| Embarrassingly easy |
Finally, I was pulled out of my happy reverie and realized that I was in... the Twilight Zone.
The playground was like the playground outside my apartment, except that in the shadows, I could see young saplings planted all around it; the archway to the courtyard looked exactly the same, except that unlike ours, it was in perfect condition; I walked around the side to see a curving curb, just like the one outside of the other entryway to our building, except that unlike ours, it was all in one piece and not as smashed up; where there were normally just trees, there was a building with an impressive looking fence. Everything was exactly like the set-up to my apartment, and yet...
And yet every time I would look at something, there were one or two details that weren't quite right.
I had an existential crisis. And by that, I mean that I simply followed the way I would normally leave my apartment, and walked back onto the street. (The layout was exactly the same, after all.)
Apparently, I had turned too early, which looks something like this:
 |
| Embarrassingly stupid |
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