I don’t mind Mondays, but its rainy days that always get me down. It is now rainy season in Osaka and for the next thirty-six hours or so it will rain solidly, the kind of rain that that Bob Dylan used to sing about.
The rain itself really has a kind of beauty of about, it beats the ground with some force, and when it does the sound it creates, is a wall of sound of which Phil Spector would be proud. It really is amazing, if only for its duration. Rainstorms, in the country I hail from of at least, rarely last more than two minutes. Here in the Land of the Rising Sun, they last many hours, almost a day.
Of course you carry an umbrella. Really good and sturdy umbrellas are sold at every convenience store. And they are quite wide umbrellas; quite enough to cover your entire body, not a drop will touch you, unless of course you are carrying a walking stick in the other hand.
Welcome to the problem of one, stick, one umbrella, one hand. Not as sexy as two girls, one cup, I grant you, but important nonetheless. I cannot do much with my left hand, I can grab, but I do not have enough co-ordination to move. It is basically a robotic arm,that just happens to be on a human.
My balance goes completely. I attempt to dance the delicate ballet that is the dance of stick and umbrella. It is a rather violent dance which the stick usually wins. I simply cannot walk carrying both. I give up on the umbrella. After all it’s only water, what does it matter if I turn up to work on the brink of pneumonia?
And the rain is rather beautiful.