Observational Faculties Are Required

Hamamatsucho Station heading towards Kanda on the Yamanote line.  Trains draw together in an intersecting path until they become parallel lines as they must, just before we would otherwise collide.  I had a bowel of ramen and shared a plate of gyoza for lunch.  This is how you eat lunch in Tokyo.  You have ramen and gyoza,.  And though I didn’t finish more than half my noodles,  nor my rich creamy broth, I feel particularly stuffed.  It might have been better to have had an apple. 

I managed to get a seat a few stops back.  At Shimbashi this train is now jammed full of people.  I feel a bit guilty, taking up extra room to type but I suppose my train mates would let me know if this was a gaijin no-no.  How did I get this sore throat?  I don’t think I’ve had any such thing for years.  I must have been too near a sneeze or sipped from the wrong glass.  We’ll see if it is on the way up or on the way down.  I’d like to put it out of commission

It’s a good thing I’m expected to speak in this next meeting.  Otherwise, I would be drifting off before long.  “Mamonaku . . . We will soon be arriving at . . . my stop.

And of course, during the meeting all was good while I was on point to speak.  But when my colleague arrived and took the floor for a while, it was another matter and I could feel myself fade and blink, and lose consciousness for a millisecond and wonder if anyone else had seen this.  Once it becomes imperative to quietly watch, rather than proactively offer input my mind veers towards a restful mode.  The mind is rather astute.  Nothing but passive observational faculties are required.  I can command to the mind that these moments are important.  But unless I call upon the body to do something other than politely watch, it is almost impossible and my commands go unheeded.

I stand up.  I had to.  The body must balance.  Now the threshold for sleep is much higher.  The penalties for sleep are much steeper when you’re standing and could potentially fall to the ground.  The claws of sleep are still clung into my mind, gently pulling me back to restfulness.  But they no longer have the power to override the body functions that are actively trying to keep me balanced on my feet.