Sometimes I am trying something in the dojo and find that it works. I do it again, it works again. This always makes me smile with excitement. It makes me want to keep trying it, maybe try it faster.

I trained last night for two hours. After two hours my hips hurt as though I had just completed a very long hike. I rested, and then joined in again to try something else. The technique is called “zero,” to “disappear” even as you are taking the opponent to the ground. To walk away and vanish. It’s very hard.

We got a ride home, which is lucky. We went to bed, exhausted, and I dreamed in the night of my dad and of snow. When I woke up at dawn there was a cat purring loudly on my face. It’s how he shows his love.

I got out of bed a couple hours later and my legs and hips were wicked sore. But after I showered and got dressed, I noticed that I was feeling better. I had to endure a two hour meeting first thing in the morning, sitting in hell chairs. But I was able to find a seat on the floor. I felt better.

I went to the pokey appointment. When I am laying in there in the dark with the needles sticking out of me — which I have never peeked back to see — I like to try to relax all my muscles, which inevitably leads to a light slumber.

Anyway. Maybe it’s working. I keep saying that to myself.

I think of Tokyo every day now. I am full of excitement and anxiety. I will love being an alien. I love being a foreigner. It forces me to do things differently and have adventures and be humbled. But I have my limits. I don’t think I would be comfortable in places like Central America or Russia. I have to be fascinated by the culture first, I have to have a reason for being there. Usually. That could change.