It probably doesn't help that I'm reading Kurt Vonnegut. This morning on the train, I allowed myself to idly imagine that the Japanese people surrounding me were Tralfamadoreans, and that I was actually involved in some strange multi-dimensional zoological experiment. Perhaps that is an apt allegory for the FS. At any rate, I've long held the suspicion that Japanese language and culture are just some cruel practical joke; that the moment I leave a room, everyone relaxes and goes back to speaking English, drinking Big Gulps, and wearing sensible shoes. When I'm done with my consular tour, and people ask how it was, I already know what answer I'll give:
Which is mostly true. And I'm a jerk for not better appreciating that I'm doing this in Japan and not in a developing world country with a skyhigh refusal rate.
To try and overcome this slump, I called up the new officer here and asked if we could have dinner. Normally I stay at home or go out by myself and read in a cafe, but I'm really tired of feeling so resigned and would dearly enjoy having a little energy. So she and I had spaghetti at her apartment, then went out to the grocery store. And what did I find there?
Yes, my friends: that is a 128 yen banana, individually sealed in its own plastic bag and cradled by a cushion of shredded pink paper. Somewhere, the inhabitants of Tralfamadore are hiding their single eyes.