Friday afternoon.

Crunch time came sooner than I expected. I lost track of time and thought I was checking out tomorrow. Turns out it was today. I couldn’t make a decision so I just extended my stay for another month. Forgot to check my visa and paid for an extra week. Oops. I guess I’ll need if I decide to extend my visa another 30 days.

Part of me was like, “Just run away from the mess you made like you always do,” and the other half was like, “No, stay and deal with whatever the fallout is. This story could get better or worse from here. Either way, it’s going to be interesting. Why don’t you stick around and find out?”

I chose fuck around and find out. Maybe by the of the month, I’ll be ready to get the fuck out for real. Or I’ll decide to stay. Who even knows? For all we know, some guy hotter than all of these ridiculous bros could just show up tonight and totally sweep me off my feet. I doubt it, but… it’s possible. So, let’s just wait and watch what happens live.

Halloween tonight. What’s the plan? Nothing. Put on a dress and go watch the shitshow unfold live. Take a shot at midnight for my birthday. Probably make out with some random guy from a brand new country I’ve never been to.

It is what it is.

Seize the Day, fam. Seize the fookin’ Day.

They always say to me, “Why are you doing this? To what purpose? To what end?” I don’t know. Why do any of us do anything? My life doesn’t have a bigger meaning or purpose. I’m just some nobody out here wandering around the world and writing a book about it. I like the characters I choose. I like the aunties I sit with every morning at the coffee stand. I like the weirdos who float in and out of the Pot Shop. I like chatting with the Budtenders from Myanmar. I like the crazy shitshow featured several nights a week at the American Bar down the street.

It’s the characters that make the story. If the people I’d met in Bali hadn’t been so ridiculous, it would just be me doing a bunch of navel-gazing. If the South Africans hadn’t behaved so absurdly, I would still be living and working in Hong Kong. If I hadn’t found these places in Bangkok to sit and watch people, I would just be alone in my apartment all the time, riding the train back and forth, and watching Netflix while I do the laundry and put away the groceries. That’s not interesting. That’s not life.

Like, okay, so I went to a Temple one time and took a picture for Instagram. So what? That’s not what makes Thailand interesting to me. What makes Thailand interesting to me is the stories of the people I meet here. If I want to choose a place to sit and observe people and talk to them and listen to their stories and write them all down to make some meaning out of this ridiculous life, then what’s wrong with that?

Well, that’s all great and everything, but I need to get some money coming in, fast. I am too distracted by the ridiculous stories I am discovering here in my little neighborhood in Bangkok.

I hope that British Guy moves away to that island soon. I can’t not see him again soon enough. When I look back on it, it’s fascinating to me how we met at this bar on three occasions, and on every occasion, a group of Irishmen directly interceded and tried to warn me away from this guy.

And they were right. They were right! I should have listened. I did listen. I’m listening now. Now that you’ve gotten my attention with a hot beefcake. Like, why didn’t you just lead with that? Jeez. No wonder people say you’re so difficult to negotiate with. You’re choosing the wrong leadership. The hottest guys should be out in the front where the cameras can see them. No one wants to listen to a bunch of crotchety old men. Hot beefcakes in tight t shirts. Put the message on the shirts and just focus right in on the muscles. Message delivered.

What have I learned from this experience? Umm, that’s a great question, John. I don’t know. That I have way too much free time on my hands and need to get a job? Yes, I agree, that is why I moved to Hong Kong in the first place. Yet somehow I ended up right back where I started from. Sigh.

On the eve of my 37th birthday, I have even less of an idea where my life is going than ever before. However, I do know that writing these little stories about the ridiculous people I meet makes me happy, even if everyone else hates them and tells me I’m delusional. That’s all that really matters in life.

I’ve been unhappy for so long, you know? This is what makes me happy. I just want to do what makes me happy. Living life with intention, seizing the day, and then writing about the ridiculous things that happen as a result of my interpretation of those phrases is what makes life worth living.

I am quite pleased to discover I’ve learned this lesson at the very least. At least it’s something.

Off to go have lunch now and finish the House of Guinness (lol) before I go out again tonight. I’m on the episode where they’re talking about how they played the violins in the living room all day. See, this is the kind of shit I’m talking about. They don’t speak in a direct way. They will never say something like, “Bro, they’ve been in there fucking all day.” They say shit like, “They were playing the violins very enthusiastically together for hours.”

Like, what?

Generally this show is kinda meh, but I appreciate the fact that they’re always making sexual metaphors out of wild, black cats and dirty old fiddles from the bar. That shit is hilarious. I get such a kick out of it. I love watching them run circles around their point for hours with endless, flowery, poetic words. It’s inspiring.

Now I understand why Irish Guy went for me. He’s used to ladies asking him to schedule time to practice the violin. He heard someone say, “How would you like to schedule sex every night?” and thought, “Finally. Someone who is direct!”

It is what it is.

Anyway, back to watching TV now. Until later…