"It just goes to show..." Early to rise in Deadbeat City, the end of the 70's - 21st century malaise

Five-fifteen am. The thin, aggravating beeping of the digital alarm clock that I swiped up off the low wooden night-table and put on my chest about an hour earlier brings whatever I was up to in my surreal dreamscape to a halting end. In another time or place; maybe visiting with old friends, or family long gone...or reliving some more unpleasant experience...betrayal, loss - the list goes on. I prefer it when I wake up just before the cursed thing goes off. I'm not a big fan of being jarred out of one reality, and thrust into another. I reach over and instinctively hit the 'stop' button on top of my leased CPAP machine, pull the rigging and nose mask off, sit up, bend over, and grab around the tatami mat for my socks. Ouch. My lower pelvic muscles have been sore for the last few weeks. Hard to say if there's been any improvement. Life's aches and pains. Annoying. The kind of discomfort one might get from trying to grunt out a 5kg Roman concrete turd first thing in the morning. I don't get it. I run four or five times a week, and usually do a full twenty minute stretch before heading out. Maybe I'm getting old? The very cusp of 53. Old. Could it be that my body is trying to tell me something? Fuck it. I'll do my usual ten km run up the Horikawa canal, anyways. Suck it up and push through the aches and pains, as usual. Barring illness, injury or unbearable weather, that's been part of my daily routine for the last six years. Not something that I particularly enjoy, but what I need to do to manage my demons, and get a little closer to that elusive life balance everyone's always on about. Before that, I'd try to solve those problems with alcohol and whatever else I could lay my hands on. That proved to be a somewhat problematic long term strategy.

While the results of my mandated yearly physicals have been coming back much better than several years ago, I remain as rueful and dour as ever. Maybe it's in my DNA? Maybe this place has finally worn me down. I can say with some certainty that the love/hate relationship I have with my adopted homeland and it's denizens has definitely been angling more toward the latter for quite awhile. While I take a certain amount of responsibility for my storied disposition, I also like to pass the buck, and maintain that I've been driven to it - in large part by my own legacy of extremely poor choices in friends and lifestyles - a situation that I've also been sorting out, at least incrementally. I like to think that I'm trying to curb myself these days, though. I feel sorry for my wife, having to listen to me go on and on. Bitching about everything the way my late mother would. Being around her was torturous. I can't stand to see myself acting out qualities I hated in my parents. I so wanted to be absolutely different from them; but as the years pass, I can't help but see the similarities bleeding through now and then.

As my senses start to come online and sharpen, I notice a muted but distinct wash of dripping and pattering coming from outside. I crack open the curtains, and there it is. It's hard to judge in the dark, so I squint and scan across the small park area a few meters away from our rear ground floor balcony window for an illuminated puddle. There we go. The unmistakable impact patterns of rain drops coming down. Fuck it. I have no classes today, so it was going to be all about 'the run'. This must be the first time that vacuous boob of a TV weatherman has been right about anything in months. I won't run in the rain. Some people love it. I'm not one of them. I'm not big on sloshing through ten km of a frigid mid-December downpour for 'my health'. I just got over a ten day cold, and am not eager to pick up another one just in time for the impending Holiday Season. Closing the curtains, I turn and see that my lovely wife, sound asleep, has cast off the comforter yet again. How she doesn't get cold at night is a total mystery to me. I go to pull it back over her, and slide the paper board panel door aside. If she sleeps long enough, she'll just throw it off again. I'll let her be for another hour and a bit, while I luxuriate on the shitter, brush my teeth, then check my email and get the laundry and breakfast sorted. I click the TV on for some background noise. BBC World. If I hear one more thing about Brexit, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. That's all they've been on about for years it seems. That, or fucking Trump. Nauseating. Thus another day (much like every other) gets off the ground in this, our small corner of Olde Nagoyaland.

Losersville.

Deadbeat City.

Spring, summer, autumn, winter...it's all much the same. Mind you - I prefer to see the sun edging it's way up when I rise from my ancient slumber. The dark and cold of dead winter does nothing for me.

Fast forward three weeks. So much for trying to get a head start on the Winter Solstice blog. Technical difficulties and life in general have a way of interceding. The platform that I use to publish these intermittent paeans to a life frittered away far out of my element can be unreliable...online glitches and the like can halt whatever I'm working on in its tracks...and requested technical assistance is not always immediately forthcoming. They usually take days to respond, and whatever compositional momentum I'd picked up is long gone by the time said technical issues have been resolved. In other words, it can take awhile to track down and snag that ever elusive muse, and get the story moving again.

Then there's the daily grind. These days, if I come into a wee bit of down time, the last thing I usually feel like doing is sitting down in front of my aging computer monitor, and trying to cobble something together that's essential sole function is masturbatory, at best. Usually the prospect of attempting a short nap, or perusing potential entertainments on one of the streaming services we've recently subscribed to finally wins out. More often than not, I'll actually wind up nodding out trying to watch something on Netflix. It doesn't matter how tantalizing the selected program looks - my late middle age napping impulse almost always win out in the end.

Between trying to hold what's left of my private English teaching concern together, and doing what needs to be done around here, time is in shorter supply than ever. I used to have an abundance of it. Somehow I could work full time, be in a dysfunctional relationship, play in a band, go out carousing, watch a plethora of movies, read, game - and still have time to waste on randomness and dubious 'friends'. I'm pretty sure I didn't sleep much (not that I sleep much now, either). My relationships ended badly. All of them. My connections with distant family were tenuous, to non-existent at best. My health - mental and physical - was crap. Business was better, though. Go figure. I guess that's youth, in a nutshell. What do they say about 'youth being wasted on the young'? I figure it would be equally squandered were it snatched up and given to the aged. They'd just waste it as well. That's the nature of the beast.

We had a pretty good week. Feeling not too bad in the run up to Xmas and New Years, we had a couple of back to back events scheduled for Thursday and Friday. Funny how everything has to be 'booked' or 'scheduled' these days. Nothing is left to chance. Long gone are the times we'd just be spontaneous, and make plans on the fly. I don't know if it's a Planet Japan thing, or if that's just the way of the world in the online age. I've been here so long that I actually don't know what 'normal' is on the outside.

We'd decided to book tickets for the announced Nagoya stop of the KISS 'End of the Road' tour back in early autumn. It was pricier than usual, and though we'd both seen it all before (several times), we finally decided to go anyways. It would be our only live show this year...and (apparently) THE LAST TIME to catch this vintage hard rock clown show, before they pack it all in for good. The venue was small. The sumo arena at Nagoya castle. Essentially a basketball court sized space...about half the size and capacity of Rainbow Hall, where bigger bands customarily play if they bother to venture in this direction. Not quite sure of the reasoning, but it could explain the slightly more expensive ticket prices. McCartney charges a small fortune for individual seats when he plays Budokan in Tokyo...and that's a sumo arena as well. When we got in, I was surprised at the intimacy of the venue, considering the scale of the show that the band puts on. There was literally not a bad seat in the house, and we were a lot closer than I'd ever expected to be. The result was a unique; even surprising experience. It's worth mentioning that while KISS is by no means my all-time favourite band, they know how to put on a show. Of the six times I've seen them, the only time I was unimpressed was back in '87...during their wormy pop metal 'no make up' period'. They actually sucked so bad my friend and I walked out after the second number (mind you, we were really there to see the opening act, with tickets we'd picked up for $15 a piece from some dope dealer friend). Thursday evening they were definitely 'on' though, and despite having had my doubts about shelling out big to see them 'one more time', I'm glad I did.

My lovely wife was also smiling ear to ear, and seemed to be absolutely enjoying the shit out of the whole thing - so, lasers, fireballs, dry ice and explosions aside - that, in itself, made it worthwhile.

All smiles, and a big 'KISS' branded bag full of merch in tow (Mina loves to buy programs, t-shirts, towels - - you name it. There was no shortage of choices, as KISS, after all, are the undisputed kings of branding and self-merchandising), we piled on to a seriously over-packed subway car, were lucky enough to slide into a seat two stations in, and rode the relatively quick seven stops straight home.

Friday, the 20th, the morning after KISS, I was up at the crack of dawn, as usual. My monthly CPAP appointment was booked for 9 am -but more importantly - Mina had managed to book us a prized pair of Star Wars tickets online the previous Tuesday, at midnight. We had reserved seats for the 3:20 matinee show. It felt like Christmas morning. I was 10 years old again. Amazing how that happens. This has always been a big deal to me. Back in 1980, when I was 13 (through no small amount of effort and quick dialing) I had managed to win special invitations to the press and media preview of The Empire Strikes Back through a local radio station's phone in contest. To this day, that screening of The Empire Strikes Back remains the singular greatest cinematic memory of my life...second only to the day my Gramma took me to see Jaws when I was 8 years old. No less determined three years later, I pulled the same rabbit out of the 'quick dialing' hat for the third installment, and was there at that press and media preview as well - a day before the general public got to see it. Maybe it's a generational thing? Star Wars was a huge deal to me back then. Through the years, I never really let go of that. I've always had to be there on opening day.

Anyways, morning appointment sorted, we picked up a couple of bento boxes at the local supermarket, had a quick lunch at home, and went out to the IMAX Theater, near Nagoya Station about an hour and a half before showtime. The crowd in the multiplex foyer was sparse, it being mid-afternoon on a week day, and having reserved seats, we could pretty much breeze right in, no messing about. What a difference 39 years makes. I remember standing in a queue 7 blocks long to see The Empire Strikes Back a second time with friends back in the early summer of 1980. No online booking. Tickets for all of the day's shows at the box office, when it opened...at 11:00 am. That meant queueing up from 8 am (or earlier) just to get the tickets. Some people stood out there all night. Festival seating meant no reserved status...so another long line awaited. This was an all-day affair. Seeing one of these movies involved some level of commitment.

After sorting Mina out with a bag of programs and trinkets, we got the popcorn, and were almost the first ones through the gates when they opened the theater to seat the 3:20 show. I must have had to pee at least 10 times. This was it. The final chapter of the story that so captivated me when I was 10 years old. The last one.

Verdict?

Without dropping 'spoilers', or going into detail, I was enamoured with it from beginning to end. From the opening crawl and fanfare, straight through to the end credits. The John Williams soundtrack. The epic proportions of the narrative. Was it perfect? No... probably not, if you were there to nit-pick. I was there to take it all in. To suspend my reality for a couple of hours. My initial reaction? I loved it. It actually brought a tear to my eye. Several to Mina's. When the film let out shortly before 6pm, the scene in the foyer had been transformed. A mass of humanity milling around, cos-players in full Star Wars regalia posing for selfies with ticket holders - a palpable sense of excitement and anticipation. A festival kind of atmosphere. As with KISS, the night before - a visibly older crowd, too. People that were kids or teenagers back in '77.

The curtains dropping on Star Wars and KISS, two icons of late 70's youth and pop culture, all within two days. Wow. The end of an era.

The 2019 Xmas season looked to be off to roaring start. Two amazing events, no disappointments. All smiles.

Saturday, Dec. 21st, 5:15 am. It's back to reality and work for the two of us, after both having had a marvelous Thursday and Friday off. I got Mina sorted and out the door shortly before 8 am, as usual. My class was scheduled for 3:30 or 4 pm, but I had my morning 10 km run to take care of...then laundry, a smattering of housework, and dinner to sort out. Mina had booked Tuesday the 24th and Wednesday the 25th off (my birthday, and Xmas, respectively), so the plan was that we would be going out and doing something 'seasonal'. There's an art show she wants to see in Sakae, then maybe lunch somewhere good. It seems the weather will be nice, so it should be a good couple of days. It's been a hard year; one that we both mean to celebrate seeing the back of. My afternoon student finished about 30 minutes late, so on to the kitchen, and the dinner business. Fortunately, I'd had some stuff cooked a couple of days before - the old Japanese winter stand-by, a big pot of curry...so things were coming together without too much hassle. I was tired, though. The early winter mornings are hard. The 10 km run hadn't been too bad, but the weather is definitely getting colder, and I really felt it. Mina rolled in about half an hour later than usual. Coughing.

"Kaze haita. Chotto samui mittai" - (I caught a cold. I seem to feel a little chilly)

Uh-oh.

Mina is a career nurse. She's also a tough cookie - unlike me. I fold up with the slightest wheeze, cough or sore throat. God forbid I get a low grade fever. Nothing fazes this lady, though. She's like the friggin' Battleship Yamato...or so I though until mid-June this year, when shit suddenly went hard south. She was down and out of the game of life for over a week, with some type of mysterious viral infection that seemed like influenza...but came up negative for the flu on all of the tests. To make matters worse, the doctor at the clinic we usually go to for this sort of thing prescribed an antibiotic that really threw her into a hard tailspin...aggravating all of her symptoms and driving her close to what, for all intents and purposes looked like a premature demise. It was terrifying. I'd never seen her like that. She was essentially laid out for almost a week with a high fever, no energy, no appetite...barely able to manage rice porridge and sports drink. After five days, to our great relief, her fever finally started coming down...and some life and colour gradually started to return. We later learned that she had been infected with what is called 'cytomegalovirus'. This is something that most of us are exposed to when we're children. It's like Chicken Pox...you get it once, and that's it. Somehow she'd managed to avoid getting it as a kid, it seems...and herein is the rub. Kids can power through it fairly easily, and be done with it in 5-7 days. No big deal. It hits adults like a fucking freight train, though. Can cause liver damage, and all kinds of problems. We fully expected that we would have to cancel our summer jaunt out to Ishigaki, but fortunately, she turned the corner, and felt well enough to travel by the second week of July, when had booked our trip.

This girl has had enough sickness for this year. The next one, too. I really thought she was on her last legs at the end of June.

We got out the thermometer, and her temperature seemed normal...a tiny bit higher than usual, but under 37C, which is considered 'the borderline'. So, it was early to bed, to sleep it off. Hopefully it's just a cold. I'd had one almost a month ago. No fun at all.

Yesterday morning I woke up at a leisurely 7:30 am, reached over, and put my hand on her head. Wow. She was burning up.

We took her temperature.

39.2C.

Fucking hell.

This is not good.

We do the back and forth, and it's finally decided that she should go to her workplace, sign in at the Emergency Area, and get checked out, posthaste. If it IS influenza, the sooner that she can get a positive diagnosis and a course of Tami-flu, the better the prognosis for a timely recovery. If it's NOT influenza, then we need to know what we're dealing with as soon as possible. Around 8:30, off she went. It's days like this that I regret not being able to drive - I hate to see her have to take herself there in that condition. Around 10:00 am, I got a call. She just finished up at the hospital. Influenza 'A'. She'd got a prescription for Tami-flu, and something to bring her fever down, and was on her way back.

She'll be sidelined and out of action for the whole week. No work, no un-necessary jaunts afield.

Nothing.

Poor girl.

Fucking 2019.

I had influenza 'A' in January..and it was no fun at all. Took me out of action for a good ten days. I'd like to think that this protects me from getting it again this year, but from what I've been reading, that may not be the case. These viruses are constantly mutating, and there can be multiple strains of any one particular variety. At best, this means that having had an earlier incarnation of influenza 'A' may give me some limited protection via similar anti-bodies, but not a carte-blanche immunity...unless dumb luck would have it that she somehow picked up the very same strain that I had, which is highly doubtful. These things usually incubate for two days after contraction, and are contagious for a full day before any symptoms emerge, which is usually on day three. That means she must have picked this up on Thursday afternoon, and had been infectious from mid-day Friday. The dye has been cast. The rest is up to how my immune system is configured. We're all so very different, and react as such to all of these viruses and bacterial infections. She didn't catch the flu from me earlier this year, or my cold last month, despite being in close proximity. While she was withering on the vine from cytomegalovirus, I was fine. Fingers crossed that I can dodge this bullet and take care of her through the next week. The worst thing would be for us both to be down and out at the same time. So much for the holiday cheer. The focus will be on getting her well enough to go and spend Japanese New Years with her family in Shiga. That's 9 days away. Fingers crossed. The last thing we need to do is pack an influenza virus over to her 85 year old Mum. That could kill her.

So, we wrap up this year much as it started...beset by fever and illness.

Ho-ho-ho. Merry Sickmas!

Everything started out so good.

"It just goes to show ya...it's always something; if it's not one thing, it's another", as Gilda Radner's Rosanne Rosanna Danna character used to say on vintage 70's SNL.

Indeed.

"It just goes to show...".

I guess the take away here is to really enjoy every moment that things aren't going fucking sideways. Allow yourself the luxury of living in THAT MOMENT. Because you never know. Things tend to turn on a dime. One minute you have all these grand plans...the next, it's all damage control. I guess we can take comfort in the old adage that "it could always be worse". Of course it fucking could.

In a perfect world, she'll turn the corner in a couple of days, I'll dodge the bullet, and we can sit under a blanket on the couch, sip tea and watch Jimmy Stewart in 'It's a Wonderful Life' on Christmas Day. Something somewhat seasonal.

She's always liked that.

Fingers crossed.

So to anyone that's made it this far, I hope that the 2019 festive season brings a measure more good fortune your way than it has ours, and that the viral faeries of bacterial infection and general misfortune pass you and yours by without a second glance.

With any luck, this deepest darkest point of winter will pass in to an agreeable spring equinox three months henceforth, at which point the blather and ramble from these precincts will resume, with no more bad news to report. Just the usual bitching and kvetching.

Until then, it would do you well to remember. that, "No matter where you go - there you are".

Indeed.

There...and nowhere else.