Too hot to think straight. Too humid. Got my aircon set to 19, and my inside thermometer – the doll thermometer – still says 29.7. Outside it is apparently 31 about now, but it’s 7.30pm as I’m writing this. Would have been a lot hotter a few hours ago, when I was out in it. Feeling a bit giddy. Moved two of my emergency earthquake water bottles to the freezer to chug when appropriately cooled. Used to worse, but today feels pretty bad. The strange blah that accompanies the coming of the end is making it worse, perhaps. Thinking of popping through the novel and adding a few lazy lines here and there about pearl circlets and loving someone you can’t touch. Don’t think I’m capable of much more than that right now. Just look at this blog. Rubbish. I tried to write a sonnet, but that failed. Into the unpublished blogs bin!
Despite the heat and the weight of my bags, I was smacked in the face by a short story today. As I was crossing the Sanjo bridge, I think, approaching the train station. After buying some final bags to fill along with several self-indulgent items, including a black sheep mouse pad and a cat-shaped iPhone stand. And before anyone who knows about it can ask, I did not attend Gion-matsuri – one of Kyoto’s biggest festivals, very famous. I didn’t attend last year, either. Such heat within such an enormous crowd is bound to rapidly intensify, and I don’t do crowds well in the best temperature-related situations. I’m sure it would be wonderfully interesting to see, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind after getting my shopping done to wander up to the Gion end of the arcade mall. I just wanted a drink. And to sit down. And to be honest, I’ve never felt a huge urge to see such festivals. Going just to say you’ve gone feels rather hollow to me, and that’s all I’d be doing. Standing there in the horrible heat, pressed in on all sides by thousands of people, thinking about my sore feet, dry throat, and fast-developing headache, and at the first glimpse of a float-like lantern-bedecked structure over the ocean of heads saying to myself, “right, checking Gion-matsuri off the list.”
Doesn’t seem right. It’d be like I was cheating the occasion out of something, the awe it deserves – someone who could truly appreciate its splendour might have been standing on that patch of road instead, had I gone. Or not gone. Had I not gone if I’d gone. Whichever is correct, can’t tell right now. I know the counter-argument for “why go if you won’t enjoy it” is “you might surprise yourself and have a wonderful time.” But it was just … too … hot. Why are all of Kyoto’s best festivals in summer?
Moved the water bottles into the fridge before they froze over. So, short story. Nice and simple, inspired by the many folks that stand in front of businesses and hand out fliers and discount vouchers to those passing by. Working title is Paper Races, though it’ll probably change. I’ll write out a few notes for it later. Once my doll thermometer drops below 25.