Some days, I think my Japanese is pretty decent. On these days, I glow with the radiance that only an all-knowing, omnipotent master of language can. I am an acclaimed acrobat, skating my way across a tightrope, juggling vocabulary, nuance and witticism like they were sexual yearnings and wowing my listening audience with my adroit local dialect and impeccable intonation.
Unfortunately, these days are few and far between and tend to coincide with days heavily lubricated with alcohol.
Most of the time, I am a pauper in the slums of Japanese language; tripping over every third word littering the rancid streets, eating vowels out of opened bean cans and slipping in every puddle of sentence continuity.
These days, I nurse my Japanese Language Ability like it were my very own little nipple-sucking baby. I read Dr. Seuss to it, play it Leo Kottke acoustic guitar songs, and wipe its butt with love-scented baby wipes.
Only it's not a baby.
It's more like a stem cell.
Well, kind of… except for the fact that no amount of researching and studying my Language Inability Stem Cell can ever save another Language Inability Baby in the future…Unless of course,
AW, screw it! I seem to have imagination-ed myself into a hole here…
So I guess I'll stop procrastinating and get back to writing farewell speeches in Japanese. Ggrrrrrr!!!