During the peak of my fever, I had the strangest hallucinations. I was in my bed, as the doctor had ordered, and medicated to the gills with a shot of who-knows-what, the controversial drug 'Tamiflu', and three other little white pills of uncertain properties. The chills rolled and waved haphazardly and beautifully over my body; I envisioned their patterns to look like the Northern Lights. I was the Aurora Borealis of Influenza Type A. As I slept, I rolled fitfully; each time I rolled, a second 'me' seemed split off, taking the form of another person in my bed. The other 'me' would be different every time; from another country, and as often as not male rather than female, and usually speaking another language. But I could understand what the multitude of foreign 'me's' were saying. They were all comforting me; telling me it was okay to sleep and rest and recover. The huge-black-Swahili-man-me told me that it was time to drink some water. The fat-Hawaiian-Momma-me told me that it was time to get up and go pee. These fever-me's looked after me all night.

The guilty Catholic in me thinks that I have probably been entirely responsible for getting myself sick by playing the Tokushima playgirl. I hadn't refused a social invitation in weeks, thinking that it wasn't going to be long until I was on the other side of the world. Luckily the flu stopped me in my tracks, whacked me upside my head and locked me in my squirrel's nest for three days. Sans TV. (I'd earlier returned it to Jeff who had kindly let me borrow it for the past how-many-I-dunno months).

I can't say I've regretted the playing-- not too much, anyway. Ume flew down from Saitama on March 3rd. Bubu and I went to the airport to pick her up. On the way to greet her, I expressed my selfish desire for spring to come early this year; I love Hanami more than any other Japanese celebration, and I wanted to see the cherry blossoms in Tokushima park once more before I left. Bubu took this into careful consideration. Then he said, "The cherry blossom's babies were born last summer. Now, they are sleeping. They need the cold wind to wake them up... it has been too warm this year. I do not know when they will be wake up." I was so touched by the poignancy of imagining the cherry blossom's children being 'born' and 'awoken by a cold wind' that I was silent for a few minutes. I can still remember the gusts of warm air on the back of my arm as I stuck it out the car window, and the sparkle of the blue sky on the Yoshinogawa. We picked up Ume, and I sat happily in the back seat as my two favorite Japanese people met and hit it off-- as I suspected they might. I've been lucky to befriend clever, funny people, with acerbic wit. I'd have been surprised if they hadn't gotten along. Bubu told the tale of how 'fat' I'd been when I arrived in Tokushima, and how now that I was half-way decent looking, it was a good time for me to go home and snag a husband. She threw a wry glance over her shoulder at me. "his favorite story," I ascertained.

Bubu dropped us off downtown and I finally got to go on that bargain of a boat cruise around Tokushima island; it was only 100 yen! The day was bright and fantastic and we snapped pictures of ourselves looking foolish and windblown on the deck of the zooming platform craft-- pictures so foolish, that we deleted most of them as soon as they were taken. I've always loved Ume for her ability to see right through me-- we talk straight, and we spend most of the time laughing at the absurdity of our own foibles. It's wonderful. And real. We talked and walked back to my apartment in the dazzling warmth, and I spent the rest of the day sharing her with all of my favorite Japanese friends; eating takoyaki and ice-cream at Bubu's shop and then eating again at Haru's favorite ramen shop, and then soaking our hides with Miho at my beloved Ebisu onsen. We ended the day like girls at a slumber party, giggling in our futons on the floor of my tiny apartment. Not much has changed in our 13 years of friendship. I hope that not much ever will.

Then there was the briefly-mentioned (and in actuality, brief) journey to Kyoto with my dear friend Jenna. I shall ever remember her sweet snores on the long dark bus ride home, after she had covertly downed a can of chu-hi.

Last weekend was Bubu's daughter's wedding; another event to ready-steady-go for. I was agonizing over what to wear, and ended up going in my old standby, my mom's 1970-whatever navy-blue-and-white polka-dot number. I think every person alive has seen me in that dress. I used to want to be buried in it (as it is ever-flattering; or people are too kind to tell me that it isn't)... but after finding a couple of holes in it at the wedding party, I decided it probably ought to be retired soon. From formal events, anyway. Enough about my dress... Eri looked like a whipped-cream-dream cupcake. I have never seen such flounces and swirls of taffeta look so charming and delicious! The wedding was all western-style, which surprised me; we began in a chapel and sang some Christian hymn (in Japanese, of course) and I could barely contain my laughter as some big white American dude came in dressed in robes to play the part of the priest-- he couldn't have looked more ingenuine-- to my eyes, anyway. Apparently this is common practice; a western-style wedding wouldn't be complete without a westerner presiding, now would it? Of course, I was the only other foreigner present, so I had to contain my snorts of amusement and honor the solemnity of the occasion. After the couple kissed and hurried up the aisle under a hail of white rose petals, we returned to a sumptuously decorated banquet hall to begin course after delightful tiny course of perfectly, artfully arranged food; to drink beer and champagne and to listen to toasts by uncles (and one in English by that crazy blond chick... who brought her?) and to catch the bouquet and release pastel balloons into the chilly sky... my general final impression was that a wedding is a wedding. And I love weddings. Ooooh, and didn't I go home with a giant goodie bag? One major difference, that was. I've never been so richly rewarded simply for being a guest. I got some beautiful china, some designer towels, designer cookies, and some dried fish flakes and tea bags. Then again, the average cost of admission for a guest to enter the wedding hall is about 300$ CDN. Another difference...

After the couple went off to their hotel and we all filed out, I went back with Bubu and the members of my table (comprised of Bubu's favorite and most loyal customers-- we were the iro-iro na hito <every kind of person> table) and we drank more sake and ate more sushi and Takeshige jokingly berated me again and again for not falling in love with him when I had the chance. This from a fellow who looks like a smaller Elvis might have if he'd continued to live another few years on his fried-peanut-butter-and-banana-sandwich diet. Cute! And he only admonished me after he told me how unattractive I'd been when I was 'fat'. Bring it on, folks; I've got myself a thick skin, now. The evening ended with Bubu and Haruko predicting that the emptiness of their house probably wouldn't hit them for a few days-- and hey, if I needed somewhere to stay after I moved out of my apartment, and before I moved back to Canada, there was an empty room upstairs...

Oh, and have I mentioned that I've got myself a bit of a stalker? The kindest, sweetest, most worshipful little twenty-three-year-old has fallen sickeningly in love with me. That's half the reason I'm still here, late on a Sunday night, when I work tomorrow... My own fault, I suppose; Dad did label me 'A Fisher of Men'. But how do you get the hook out when it's gone right through their brains?

The fever started on Tuesday evening, but it had been so long since I'd had any kind flu that I didn't recognize it as such. The next day, my joints ached and my ass dragged-- I took myself to Bubu's shop before work to ask what sort of over-the-counter remedy I should consider. Bubu and Haruko swapped concerned looks as I shared my symptoms-- Haruko scootered off to pick up some decongestants and Bubu made me promise to email him when I finished work, if I got worse. I got worse. Bubu came rushing over to my house at 11PM, picked me up, rushed me to his Md's clinic, and even got the good doctor out of his bath at home, and before I knew it I was being prodded with needles and swabs and thermometers. Bubu wondered why I kept on propping myself up on my hospital cot to smile at him. "Why are you so HAPPY? You should be WORRY!" But I figured if my brain was going to combust, at least I'd have had a good friend sitting by.

So, like I said, I ended up holed up in my squirrel's nest, with nary more than an Oprah magazine (and a few Cosmos and National Geographics that Melissa brought by for me)... but mostly-- when I was capable of rational thought-- I pondered over what has become of me recently. I have been pressed and formed by a million gratitudes to so many people around me; I cannot begin to express the wealth of joy and friendship I have absorbed. I only hope that I can pass this spirit on.

Look at her go! look at her go, go, go! Even as type this, I am watching the clock-- a matter of minutes before I propel myself on coffee fumes out of this smoky internet cafe and into my workplace...

I'd like to say that as I prepare to leave Japan, I am filled with peace and quietude. That I spend my free time gazing as the fresh frilly plum blossoms, and breathing deep of the sunny cool ocean winds that whip through Tokushima. Of course, I do do these things... and a thousand other things besides!

In the past little while I have been working and planning, trying to sell my belongings, teaching private lessons, and socializing my little heart out. Dressing up, going out, swapping shifts to meet and greet and drink and eat and merrymake. Generally speaking, I have been exhausting myself, wonderfully and completely.

A vingette: I went to Kyoto a couple of days ago to get kitted up like a maiko with my friend Jenna... one of those touristy things that I've always wanted to try. The experience of being made-up and dressed was fantastically swift and organized. I had my eyes closed as I was painted white and drawn upon in red and black, and when I opened them... who is that?? My kimono was royal blue with brassy gold pine trees embroidered on the long hem and sleeves. My wig was heavy and ornate. The photographer posed and prodded me into a variety of coy postitions; I wobbled on my geta and twirled an umbrella and I cocked my head this way and that and smiled a cheeky little Mona Lisa smile. I looked... like a freaky cross-dresser. In fact, when I showed the photos to my Japanese friend, he said, "oh, otoko mae (good-looking guy). You would make a better samurai than maiko-san."

I try.