Didn't work last week, won't work this week: am generally useless at work anyway, and the pain it leaves me in is atrocious. (I think because I forget to stretch every 30 minutes when I'm constantly standing.) The result feels like being on an extended vacation for what seems the first time in decades. It's not- I've had medical time off as recently as last year- but the (deliberate) not thinking about work at all does take me back to a happier mindset. Thus I was musing about that Tokyo trip in '01, fourteen years ago, that I use as an encouraging example. Because I remember it as day after day of shopping for djs and sorting them in the evening and watching Saiyuki and eating out with friends, and in fact it was precisely three days of same: Wednesday to Friday, and then we went our separate ways for the weekend. Happiness makes time expand, as anyone on a real vacation knows: so it doesn't matter how much time you have but how you fill it.
Except- except- it really felt longer than that. The passport that would give me exact dates was stolen in '02, but a stray memory of tidying the kitchen several years back sent me to the files where I found-- well, a whole gallimaufrey of nostalgic paperwork, like the ryokan receipt from Ibaraki in '07, and the Hakone hotel receipt in '92, and my guarantor's instructions how to get to his parents' in Shizuoka in 1990. And the itinerary from 2001, which had me leaving Saturday afternoon and arriving Sunday evening. So add Monday and Tuesday to that to make a whole week. It was still a long time, subjectively speaking: so long that I can't remember what we did those first two days, because memory still insists we started our shopping spree on Wednesday.