IMR: 1998: January: 04 -- Sunday, 10:40 p.m.
Our Apartment, Waikiki, Hawai`i
Donica called. She'd heard from Del, and wanted to follow through on the "let's get together again" overheard at the shindig. So, I called Del, hoping to do something Tuesday afternoon -- Jen's day off.
Turns out his last few days islandside are booked. Shooting models, no doubt. He leaves for Santa Barbara Tuesday night.
He'll be back, of course. He's on a trimester schedule, and generally can get enough stuff going in Honolulu to justify taking trips home. And he's thinking about nabbing an internship or some sort of freelance deal with the Star-Bulletin.
Although the next time I see him, I'll be a father.
Same thing goes for Greg actually. And Jaimee and Nate (and lots of other friends I've yet to web up).
I wonder if I make my friends feel old. If any one of them had gotten married and/or procreated, I'd certainly start looking for wrinkles.
Micheal is on the Big Island, staying with William and photographing trees and rocks and who knows what else.
To think half a year ago, Jen and I were thinking about visiting Hilo this month. We desperately miss that small, wet, sometimes maddeningly slow town. The fantasy didn't factor in how an airplane and an eight-month uterus don't get along.
Still, we can travel vicariously. Sort of.
William was kind enough (read: cruel enough) to send an e-mail informing us that they'd be dining at Ken's House of Pancakes, our absolute favorite Hilo eatery.
"That bastard," Jen responded.
We'll return there someday, though probably not before the next century. I don't miss Hapuna Beach enough to brave taking a toddler on an airplane -- even for a 40-minute hop.
At the moment Jen and I are reclining on the couch, alternating between watching an "X Files" rerun and a bunch of buff, shirtless tap dancers on PBS. We flipped past TNT, so I know I'm missing the best chance I'll get to get a grasp on the whole "Babylon 5" phenomenon. Though the last thing I need now is to get addicted to an outer space soap opera.
Now and then Jen calls my attention to her stomach, Katie apparently doing gymnastics within.
Woohoo! Man... It's something else. You can actually see the baby roll and stretch. Those oft-heard "Alien" jokes are more accurate than you'd think.
Holding Jen's tummy each night as we sleep, I've become familiar with Katie's movements -- she turns clockwise more than the other way around -- and I wait out insomnia trying to guess which body part is pushing where.
Katie's sleep schedule, of course, doesn't match ours. I can wake up at 3:30 in the morning and feel her little kicks. Sometimes it lightly shakes the bed.
While I continue to mull over the all-too-near future -- I sent my first move-in feeler to mom tonight -- I finally got around to thinking about one of my neglected selves: my student self.
I dialed PA`E -- "the University of Hawai`i at Manoa registration line," as the familiar voice explains -- to get my class schedule for the upcoming semester. I'd forgotten that I'm only registered as a part-time student. Over the break, I was supposed to find one more course to make 13 credits, but I guess as soon as finals were over I forgot anything and everything having to do with school.
Not that there's anything wrong with being a part-timer. Not anymore. Now that I'm 23, the child support my mom has been getting stops this month so there's nothing compelling me to stay about 12 credits.
Then again, I'm supposed to be in a hurry to graduate.
Gods. Am I a student or not?
People think I'm being stupid when I say I don't know whether or not I'm going to be there, freezing in Sakamaki C101 at 7:30 a.m. on Monday, Jan. 12. But I really don't know. I don't.
My dad wants me to graduate more than anything else. My mom vows to do everything in her power to keep me in college. Only now, nearing my sixth year, do I appreciate higher education. By those facts, not only am I a student, but I've got the makings of an überstudent.
But part of me thinks I'm insane to be grabbing a backpack and some pens and heading into Manoa when I'm less than a month away from becoming a father. When I still haven't figured out how my new family is going to manage.
We will manage. I'm confident of that. Maybe I'm just not comfortable playing schoolboy until there's ground under my family's feet firm enough for Jen to be confident too. My mind can't be at ease until hers is.
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|© Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: firstname.lastname@example.org · Created: 4 January 1997 · Last Modified: 6 January 1997|