Under covers

It's starting again. That dull ache that whirls in the pit of my stomach that I can feel it fester. It's a parasite and I want it out. I want this longing to be gone because I want to close my eyes and not picture neon lights.

The post-travel high is the worst. Because the nostalgia sets in and that sense of freedom from all responsibilities. For a week, I was a tourist, a stranger, a traveler in some new-found land. And it was beautiful, the way you stumble upon the perfect night with your best friends. Those nights just happen and you wake up with acceptance that it was a chance of a lifetime. So now, I lay to waste in awful memories.

This happened last year after Europe. Each night, I saw spires. Now I see neon lights and there's an anguished grip on my heart. Or it could the nicotine withdrawal. And knowing my body and it's lack of poetic license, it is probably the latter. Oh, Tokyo, take me back.

Sad reality knows that I can go back, but what would I do there? Honestly speaking, I'd be a poor sack of bones in Japan. All the responsibilities that I've shirked at home will catch up, or just pile upon me in the new city.

Tough luck, eh?

But it's ok. The ache will pass until I'm left with a scar and it will be replaced by something, some place else. Belize, 2011. I'm looking at you, kid.

Back to the right side of the Pacific

I bought a leather bracelet while in Japan and am sure that it will make me happier any ring ever will. Now I worry what will happen to it when I shower. Please, don't break.

Japan was everything I expected it be and so much more. The heated toilet, the neon lights that flash epileptic messages, cute cartoon figures everywhere, and insane politeness. I thought my head was going to nod off by the end or I was going to rip out my ear drums so I wouldn't hear another sales clerk's welcoming.

And the fooooooood, I ate so much but my brother mentioned how much skinnier I seemed. I blame walking for 13 hours on our first full day in Tokyo. That's not including sitting for meals or rest time. I have never done so much walking where my feet are cracked and sore. That's actually a disgusting image but that's how weary my feet are.

Now to deal with my jetlag. Accidental nap in the afternoon and paying for it with wide awake eyes at 3 am. Oh well, now to catch up on emails, music news, and US news while eating green tea kitkats.