I don't know how it could be, I've come to Japan and gotten completely hooked on dry white toast and instant coffee. In the land of possibly the freshest food on earth (yes, some so fresh it is in fact still moving when it reaches the table, the last twitches of life expressed right before consumption) I have developed an appetite for all that is stale, white, and completely devoid of any nutritional value. Please note, I am not a coffee drinker, normally I steer clear of bread all together, but suddenly that's the stuff I crave. Maybe it's the American in me rising up, demanding a little mediocrity, a tiny taste of home.
I love Japan, but I hate to travel. My stomach protests even the slightest variation in routine. And for the past two weeks we have been living like gypsies, sleeping in assorted beds, eating anything and everything offered to us. My stomach has quit, happy only with dry toast and coffee, light and sweet. And my brain? That quit a long time ago. After two weeks here I was filled to capacity with Japanese and have been tredding in a sort of language paralysis ever since. I guess its good we will be going back to New York tomorrow. I need to be back in my own home. But there is much to miss about Japan, and so our return home is heavy with sadness.
Forgive me for not staying current with entries. Our agenda shifted into high gear when Papa H joined us, suddenly no time to even catch our breath (a contributing factor no doubt to the sorry state of my stomach). I have a long list of things I want to write about, but I think I will only be able to gather my thoughts after we have come to a complete stop.
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