This is easily, hands down, the worst trip to Japan I've ever made. The evidence comes from my own mind, my subconscious, which I can't control.
I've had waking dreams, bordering on hallucinations -- I can only explain it that way -- of bizarre situations, usually mindlessly bureaucratic ones: being in a vast hotel talking to complete strangers, signing receipts and giving the credit card to the deliverer of uranium, in front of the plane's captain, in the stairwell of yet another vast hotel . . . well, you get the picture. I've personally been aware of rambling or ranting about something in a half-sleep to Brigitte, aware of what I'm doing but not in control -- kind of like a "paralysed dream state." A psychiatrist would have a field day, then retire in luxury for the rest of his life.
When Brigitte came home today from shopping I could swear, as I lay in bed, that I could smell pine. I was sure it was a Christmas tree. That's what the smell was. But there was no tree -- she couldn't find one. But my mind had conjured up the smell of a Christmas tree. The powers of imagination!
So this time it seems that it will take more than the usual week to recover. And then I just about have time to prepare to do it all again.
I'll keep you postal.
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