Having to stay in during a rainy day is one thing, being required to under the guise of self-quarantine is another. Combine the two and it is the closest thing to being in hell I can imagine. Mother nature on both counts is telling me don’t go out. If you do you will get very wet, perhaps catch a cold. And if that doesn’t work then corona will get you.
The choice is mine, stay home or go out. I chose home, today. And a good thing too. I was able to get a lot of things done. Things like sleep until nine, something I haven’t done in over ten years. My problem, I do too much in the morning so I have to get up early. I could list all that I do, but I don’t want to make you feel like you’re unproductive if you have a comparing type of personality.
Coming to at my usual early morning time of six, the sound of rain is, “potsu, postsu” the Japanese twice repeated word for, “little by little.” The Japanese language has all kinds of onomatopoeia words for rain. There is ”zsa, zsa,” no not that Zsa as in Gabor, rather the sound of a down pour. Or, ”shito shito,” a constant somewhat louder sounding rain. Zsa zsa is the only only one that puts me back to sleep.
Waking up later, I got a hung over flashback. Back in the day, my usual habit after a night of hard drinking and waking up early was to gulp down a gallon of water and go back to sleep it off. That dreary, in Japanese “darui,” pervading feeling was hard to shake most of the morning, regardless how long I slept or the number cups of coffee or liters of water I drank. Had I been into cocaine, a few bumps and I would have been ready to “hit the motherf&%king” road.” I tried it a few times, but it never mingled well with my body chemistry. After one line I felt like Beavis and his alter-ego “cornholio” after drinking copious amounts of coffee. I just wanted to stand in place and scream until my vocal chords fried giving way to a breathy “help.” That’s no fun.
Acid, now that’s fun. It’s been a long time since dropping my last tab. I am sure just the use of the word ”tab” pretty much dates me. To be honest, I don’t even know what the young-uns call it these days. Or does it even exist any longer? I guess I could google it and find out. A little paranoid to do that residing in Japan. Drugs of any kind are illegal and they are strict about it.
I swear I read someone went to jail simply for googling the word marijuana. I am not about to throw my middle-age life down the toilet for simply googling an illegal substance word like acid.
In my defense, if I were to get caught, the word acid has many connotations. I could start by feigning ignorance and simply state, ”I was looking up the word because I wanted to buy acid to clean the rust off my steel bike.” This would work, summers in Tokyo are humid and wreak havoc on steel if you leave it outside. The Japanese prosecuting attorney’s comeback in Japanese translated for you, “Wait, why did you look on websites that were selling the drug, acid?” Acting as my own defense attorney, my brilliant retort, “I simply typed the word acid into the search engine and came up with the search results. There just happened to be a lot of websites. Confused by technology, I am middle-age. I had no idea it was THAT acid.” Here is where I would flash my pearly whites and bat my eyes to the presiding female judge, “Besides your honor-san, (san for reverential affect) it’s just like typing any word in the google search engine and you get a listing of pornographic sites. I had no idea that acid meant drugs.” Boom! Speechless! Well didn’t help that the courtroom proceedings were conducted in Japanese and my defense was in English.
Waking up at nine I began my day and that list of things to do that I normally complete before the time I woke up. It took me until noon to complete, just in time for a nap as zsa zsa continued.