Tired. I avoided homework all weekend, so last night I was up late trying to finish it. I can't believe that the final is next week! These two months have flown by.
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I like my house, but sometimes I really don't want to live there. Yesterday morning, for example. I stayed up into the wee hours on Saturday night, reading and puttering around after seeing a movie with my housemate Aya and my friend Maiko. At 8:30 am or so, a knock on the door woke me up; Ajuma was going to church, so we needed to eat by 9 am. I know that's not a hardship for many folks, but for a nightowl like me, it's EARLY. Especially on a Sunday. It hurt.

You may be thinking, well, why doesn't she just sleep in and get breakfast somewhere else later? A reasonable thought, and I offer these in return: I am paying for those meals that I skip; I was awake and would not be able to easily fall asleep; and at heart, I'm a lazy bastard and don't want to go out for breakfast -- I want to be able to wake up and drift into the direction of the kitchen and nibble on something when I feel like it.

I suppose I could get some milk and cereal and eat breakfast by myself when I desire. I might consider that. But breakfast isn't the only problem, so is dinner. I get home around 7:15, and by that time, most of the other housemates have eaten, so Ajuma keeps food on the table for me. That means that when I'm running late or have other plans, I have to call her and let her know not to keep dinner on the table.

Again, doesn't sound like a big deal. But I'm not used to having to account for myself to someone else, and I'm not reacting well to it.

So yesterday afternoon, I called up Maiko and arranged to see her new place. She helped a buddy move on Saturday and on the spur of the moment, decided to move there herself.

My dad went with me to the "Do De-Rim Bil-ding" (Do Dream Building). It isn't a house; it's a dormitory-like building. Places like this are used by people who are studying for government exams and usually have a rather unpleasant atmosphere. But since this place is brand new, it sparkles.

Maiko had let the caretakers know that we were coming, so my dad and I got the full-on tour. Maiko's room, which is the smallest available, is TINY. Jail cells are palaces in comparison. Well, in American prisons, anyway. I would say that her room is about 7 feet long and 4 feet wide. No joke.

On the other hand, she does pay 280,000 won per month (about US $250). The place is sparkling clean, there's a TV in every room, and there's that added bonus of total independence from erstwhile mother figures. There are other, larger rooms available; I could take one that is slightly larger and pay 330,000 won (probably about US $300), which is 100,000 won (about US $80) less than what I'm paying now.

Still, I hesitate. I really like my housemates, and the house has a personality, unlike the building. The new place is also 20 minutes away from school, whereas the house is about a 5 minute walk.

I have to decide before Thursday, which is when rent for December is due.

Decisions, decision. You know I hate 'em.
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I saw my first movie here on Saturday night. It was a slapstick cops and robbers comedy, and I didn't understand what anyone was saying, but it was amusing enough. Plus, I got to see a comedic movie version of a Korean jail. Prisoners live 8 to a room. Also, there was a preview for Harry Potter, and that was definitely worth seeing. I know it's already out in the States, but here it won't open until Dec. 13. Can't wait. I think I've read all of them at least 5 times by now. It's getting to be a bit obsessive. It's just such a great way to escape. Not that it's so unpleasant here. But yesterday, after eating breakfast at the singularly unhungry time of 9 am on Sunday, I climbed back into bed with The Goblet of Fire and spent three and a half very happy hours in a world of clear rights and wrongs and kindly wise old wizards and beautiful magical creatures, and I even forgot to eat lunch, I was so wrapped up.
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In class today, we talked about special birthdays. In Korea, the first birthday is very important; there's a huge feast, and tons of people come to celebrate. It hearkens back to a time when many babies died, so surviving one year was an event worth celebrating.

At the birthday, which is called dole jan chi, the baby is dressed up in traditional clothes and sat down before a table on which there are several objects. The objects include: thread, money (now often credit cards), a book and a pencil. (I think there may be more, but we only talked about those four.)

If the baby grabs the book or pencil, people say that it will be a good student. Grabbing the thread means the baby will have a long life. And the money means that the baby will be rich.

I asked my dad a few weeks ago what I had grabbed at my first birthday, and he said, "I don't remember."

"How can you not remember?" I asked, rather miffed.

"Ah, well, you know, the baby grabs whatever is closest," he said, laughing, "so whatever the parents want it to grab, they put close to it."

Yeah, I suppose. But I still think he should remember.