On Running Away
Every now and then I get the urge to run away. Like, really run away. I imagine I'd leave a voicemail to my loved ones saying I've finally lost my marbles (or found them) and I am safe and well and going to be away for a while, so don't worry. Then I'd go to the airport and pick somewhere interesting—ok, who am I kidding—JAPAN, and off I'd go with nothing more than my purse. I'd buy everything I need there, even undies. (They sell them, and everything else at 7-11 in Japan, you know.)
In my first hour of running away, I'd eat, probably street food somewhere, dripping as I go along the pristine streets of Tokyo. And of course, I'd need to fill up my Suica card for trainhopping here and there. Maybe I'd stay in a capsule hotel for women, or show up unannounced on my brother-in-law's doorstep and create so much choas we'd wake the neighborhood.
During the days it would take my family to come and get me, I'd steal away to an onsen (hot spring) and soak until pruny, feed myself, rinse, repeat. And I'd wander my favorite little neighborhood of Jyugaoka and stay all day in a Tsutaya Bookshop, maybe the Daikanyama one because I've never been there yet. And I'd get onto trains I have no idea about, going places I can't read or spell and get off somewhere interesting and wander til my feet ached.
But until then, I'm here, sipping my iced tea and fantasizing about buying new XXL undewear at the corner 7-11 in Japan...
...or maybe Tahiti!