Torture is when you can’t take your book with you to the bathroom at work…
Approximately 24 hours of my life:
My breasts hurt for a week before I’m about to go on a vacation for a few days, because my PMS is trying to wait exactly for the day I’m planning to be walking around in the nature for most of the day. It reaches the point where it hurts so much I actually spend a whole night dreaming about walking around with bust three times heavier and bigger than it is, which is not as fun as it sounds because it’s also full of pain.
I sigh, say ‘Okay’, and pack half of my small suitcase with sanitary products.
I want to buy some coffee and lunch before getting on the shinkansen, to start my vacation by reading one of my favorite books while seeping on some delicious coffee and listening to writing music.
But the morning crowd pushes me into the station entrance that has no coffee shops, and to reach the only Starbucks (which wouldn’t be my choice for coffee anyway, but it’s the only choice I have) on the station I need to go down to the platform, and then go back up on the other side. I walk the whole length of the platform, trying to find upwards escalator or elevator. No such luck.
I sigh, say ‘Okay’, and drag my suitcase up the the stairs. It’s not too heavy, but my wrist is injured and I have to spend next 20 minutes to try to get it to turn again without feeling like I’m about to throw up every time I move it in a wrong way.
As I’ve finally reached the city, left my suitcase with the hotel staff, and walk the quiet streets that hardly change, I think I should be finally free for next 48 hours.
After a minor incident where I had to pit my bladder against two elderly ladies who were buying great many things and couldn’t let me get to the cashier in my favorite paper shop (it might have been my fault for forgetting to find a toilet in the hotel lobby and holding it in for hours), I finally reach my favorite cafe with soups and banana-hojicha smoothies. Just as I’m trying to get my nerve knots to uncoil, I get a message from work that something has happened, and the co-worker who was supposed to cover in my absence is not there. It’s not voiced out loud, but I’m sure they’d want me to re-schedule my vacation if I was still in Tokyo.
I sigh, say ‘Okay’ and try to pretend like this piece of news is not going to spoil my mood. Or that I won’t start hating myself for feeling someone else’s misfortune is part of a conspiracy against me.
I make it back to the hotel. Try to not feel my disappointment prematurely when they tell me my room is on the 4th floor, because I’ve been thinking about looking out over the city during the sunset the whole time on my walk back. When I check my room my hear sinks. My window faces a solid wall 50 cm away.
I sigh, say ‘Okay’, and think that’s what you get for booking an untried new hotel last minute instead of my favorite place which was unfortunately fully booked. Now, at least, it makes sense why this was so cheap. I can’t bring myself to go ask for a new room.
After getting settled a little, and frowning at the hand towel that looks and smells clean, but feels strangely sticky after I wipe my hands (like they didn’t wash the detergent out completely), I try to unpack. I enter my code in the lock on my suitcase, and it doesn’t open. I look it over, making sure it’s mine, then try every combination I’ve been known to have on this kind of lock. There’re not many of those. I look in my bag in case I still have the ’emergency’ key, which I don’t. I don’t know if it just broke or someone tried unlocking it and got it stuck.
I sigh, say ‘Okay’, and settle down trying every combination possible on the dial for the next hour. When that doesn’t work, I take the ice tongs from the ice bucket and wrench the pull tubs out from the sliders and then from the lock. I get my suitcase open, but I doubt I’ll be able to use the lock ever again. I’m resourceful, because asking strangers for help is always the very last resort. I also kind of didn’t want people thinking I was asking them to open someone else’s suitcase.
I’ve been dreaming about sleeping while breathing in the clear air of this town for more than a year. Not only am I robbed of that, because I can’t open the window in this room, I can hardly sleep all night because the bathroom keeps making these noises like it’s a space ship. Something thuds very loudly at least once every hour, almost making me jump, something seethes, something gurgles, and I wake up every time. I wake up for good at 4 am.
I sigh, say ‘Okay’, and think that at least hardly getting any sleep is nothing new to me these days and I won’t get as hysterical as I would be previously when deprived from my 7-9 hours of sleep on vacation.
I bought my breakfast in a convenience store the day before. I have a salad I need to mix and a soup, and in the morning I realize there were no utensils in the bag. Which you have to be really really unlucky to have happen to you in Japan. They can forget to ask you if you need them and put some inside anyway, but to just forget to put anything… I can’t say this ever happened to me before.
I sigh, say ‘Okay’ and settle to have only a yogurt drink and a piece of cake I have to eat with my hands for breakfast.
I don’t want to list any more.
Believe it or not, this kind of ‘pattern’ has been my life for months. Many of them. Sometimes worse, sometimes better. It’s not really bad enough to feel like being kicked constantly, but it’s that sort of minor annoyance like trying to walk and have something constantly grab at your hair and clothing and stagger you back. Or constantly hear universe say ‘haha, f*ck you!’ in your year. Or trying to take a deep breath and smile just to have your face slapped for your efforts, every time.
I’m just so…fluffing tired.
I think my ID photos come in two types: ‘well-fed human with dead eyes’ (meaning I’ve probably been stress eating a lot and want to murder someone, or a lot of someones, so they would leave me alone) or ‘practically a vampire with somewhat alive eyes’ (meaning I haven’t really been eating or sleeping, have a face like a panda, but my flight-or-fight instincts have been kicking me enough to get me looking at least a little bit alive).
Personally, I prefer the latter, but the formers seems to be much more common…
You won’t believe how many people actually spend their time and money and send Valentine’s chocolates and other sweets to fictional (game, in this case) characters.
And all the handmade stuff then gets thrown out.
It’s all very sad.
I felt like a pretty dirty-minded person… when I found myself secretly taking a picture of a hair product on a shelf in my hair salon.
But I just couldn’t help it.
First, I saw the title and thought… “well. okaaay…”
… but then my eyes wondered over all the ‘xxtra hard’, ‘keep it up! all day!’ and ‘try it! you’ll like it!’, and I almost lost my eyebrows, because I didn’t even know what I was looking at anymore…
I probably need to try harder to keep my mind out of the gutter…
- Learned a new word a few days before.
憤死 (funshi) – dying in a fit of anger or indignation.
Love how there’s actually a separate word for that.
- Amused by the culture where people believed it was easier to tell who was the father of a person, than who was the mother.
After reading a number of biography notes starting “A son of B, mother was supposedly C.”
- Heard people discuss a ‘dad dating’ game… with only appearing characters (as far as I saw), being the dads and their teenage daughters.
Still didn’t bring myself to look it up (because scary, not knowing the actual name), because I really couldn’t tell who was supposed to be dating whom in that combination.