I live and work in Korea. I almost feel like that should be a question. I live in a concrete box the size of my last bedroom, and now I have to share the space. I am approximately 6,100 miles away from most of the people I know in the world. I am separated from most of the people I love but have not filed for divorce. Although, sometimes I almost completely forget that I am American (if it wasn't for the damn Canadians and Euros talking trash I might completely forget), and that I come from a community where everyone, pues casi toda la gente, speaks English. At times I'll slip into a state much less than lucid where it seems normal that everyone around me is blabbering in high pitched tones and grunts; I'm not surprised when I walk through a palpable wall of stench of eggs and pickled cabbage; it doesn't shock me when a strange child, or adult for that matter, approaches me and says "hehro, niceuh to meetuh you." These lapses in reason and feeling for that matter have led me to an insatiable curiosity about culture shock because becoming accustomed to all of this was some what of a blurr. There were no stages, no coping, no need for support from the ones I love. But, for some reason I feel like coming home might be more of a challenge. I fear I might be ripped from this haze of complacent insanity and begin to have flashbacks of being accosted by groups of black haired, black eyed, and bad smelling...um, I don't want to call them trolls, but it does come to mind. I might go to take the garbage out and end up down the street munching kim chi and drinking soju. Maybe this is unlikely but I'm coming to question my appropriate place on our planet. I guess it's all small potatoes anyway because so many people keep saying how the ice is melting and we're all going to die soon from global warming.
Well Eeyore's done writing here. On to events rather than observations. Learn by doing. Isn't that the credo? We went on a Buddhist retreat. It was really interesting. We stayed at a temple that practices martial arts as their form of mediation. It is called Sunmudo. We got there in the afternoon, walked around a bit, had dinner with the monks, and then that night practiced 
Sunmudo. It's kind of like yoga and taekwondo together. After that we went to sleep. I had a private room (four walls and some blankets, nothing else), but Ashley had to share with some other ladies. We awoke at 4am and went up to the temple to chant for half an hour and then did sitting meditation for another half an hour. We spent the rest of the day hanging out with a monk who took us around to nearby Buddhist sites of historical interest. It was a really cool experience. I enjoyed everything from waking up at the butt crack of dawn to eating every last grain of my kim chi, rice, and seaweed. 
In other less harmonious news, we went shooting last weekend. We went with some friends here and shot 9mm pistols on the range. That was fun but they're really skimpy on the amount of ammo they give you. So, me and my buddy Russell bought skeet shooting tickets. Who knew that shooting at flying clay was so fun. I'm hooked. All I can think about now is going duck hunting. Maybe it just struck a chord with my childhood days busting caps on television clay pigeons. It was pretty much the same deal, minus putting the gun up to the screen and cheating.
