hrh

Remember that book from kindergarten about the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day? Mmmhmm.

I was late and ill-rested on my way to the immigration office. It was raining for the fifth straight day in a row, and I like rain, but this wasn't nice, mellow, Seattle rain, this was take-a-shower-in-all-your-clothes-and-then-sit-in-the-steamy-ass-train rain. Rainy season rain--a real mud-maker. I wore my favorite sweatshirt, which is grass green, but it didn't help. Then, when I got to the Immigration Office to huddle with the other members of the wretched masses longing to be free a mere 15 minutes after it had opened (bad, bad lateness), there were already 90 minutes worth of people ahead of me in my particular category of wretched masses. And it was too hot, so I had to take off my sweatshirt anyway.

Finally, the immigration officer with the worst haircut but the kindest-looking face called my number. And I pushed my forms (with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one--no, I am not shitting you) across the counter at him (together with my letters of endorsement, because honey, let me tell you I am *nothing* if not dutiful ) and dutifully explained why I have no idea which form I should be filling out. Am I a college student? Patently not. But that's what it says on my visa. Should I change my status of residence to cultural activities so that I can get an extension? Perhaps so. Ahh, I am sorry Ms. HRH, but I must discuss your case with my supervisor, because I, like you, have no fucking idea which one of these forms printed in eyeball-meltingly tiny type is most appropriate to your eccentric situation. It took them another 45 minutes to decide on a form. Then I had to fill out another form, but then, thank you Jeebus, I was free to traipse back to the train station. Yea, and it did rain upon me, but at least I was outside.

At which point I received news from my husband via my mobile phone (which I pretty much hate anyway) that the degenerate cockroach who owns the lot next door hired a bunch of yabos to CHOP DOWN ALL THE TREES. SHIT! Really, I just don't have words for this other than fuck and shit. Shit shit shit. Fu-u-u-uck. Eight chestnut trees, and maybe ten plums. They dug up the camellias the other day, but I didn't realize they were fixing to clear the lot. This is bad. It's bad for the bats who like to dance and catch bugs there every evening. It's bad for the crickets, it's bad for the quiet. It's bad for, well, it's just really bad. Even when I'm inside I can feel it. The light's different, it's noisier, and the bugs--well, they're either dead or lost in transportation in the back of some asshole's pickup truck. Since it's a huge lot, and I haven't gotten any notices about land-use hearings and have no idea how to *get* such notices, I can only assume the degenerate cockroach is going to erect yet another monstrous apartment building, which we don't need. Did I mention that they're building a big pile of rhinoceros shit on the ex-vacant lot on the *other* side of my building (which is pretty crappy already)? And that there are several apartments vacant already in this building, for which the major plus had been the orchard next door? Fuck. Catch me another day on corruption and construction in Japan. For now, suffice it to say: FUCK. And Gaaaaaah.

But wait, I'm not done. So I get the bad tree news. Then I go off to Tokyo--actually, I try, because I'm in Chiba, and I have no clue which trains are which out there, and I get on the wrong train. Of course, since this is the suburb-sticks, the trains only run once every twenty minutes, so I gotta cool my heels well and good before I get going back to T-Town. My goal is the Metropolitan Police's Lost and Found. See, I dropped my coin purse, which had my multiple-ride train tickets and 18 thousand yen in it--over 200 bucks worth of stuff, so yeah, I'd like it back. So I asked at my train station, and I wait, but nothing gets turned in. Then I asked at the subway station where I board, and the guy there said they'd found the wallet and sent it to this *other* train station. So a couple days later, when it's some semblance of convenient, I went there, but guess what? The nice fat man with the limp couldn't find it. Shit. (That's the leitmotif here, obviously.) After I while, I decided that maybe it was a problem of categorization--what I lost was a small, cloth zippered bag, and I called it a wallet. Maybe here it would be a...thingy? Also, I'm an American, so at first I figured someone pocketed my cash. Then I thought A) No, the second train station guy definitely told me that they found it and gave it a number, which makes ex-post-facto theft awkward and B) this is Japan, for crying out loud. Back to train station #2. I get the number ("the management number") assigned to my thingy. I call train station #3, but by now it's been a week, and just that morning they've shipped it off to the police in Iidabashi. So I call the police, and it's excruciating. Since now I'm convinced that it's not a "wallet," I tell him it's a "very small cloth bag," but even with the management number, this yields a big fat zero. I plead, "But the guy at Nezu Station *told* me they found it. And the guy at Ueno *told* me they sent it to you this morning." He checks some more, finally finds it. I'm relieved, but fail to comprehend the directions on how to get there or even exactly what the *&^$ office is called.

SO: today, I finally get to Iidabashi, and sweet Christ don't ask me why--I'm just a poor, pathetic MORON--on the way to the big rock candy mountain lost and found, as I cross over the muddy river on the crowded pedestrian overpass, I fish my foreigner's registration card out of my purse to stick it in my pocket for handy access b/c I know I'm gonna have to show ID to get my coin purse thing back. And you know what? Gods of heaven and earth protect me, but I DROP the sucker. OK, other than my passport, this is the most important piece of ID I possess at present. I'm required by law to carry it at all times. (Check the fascist laws of your country, dude--bet they do nasty shit to foreigners, too.) And (this is the sweetest part) I've stuck the fucking ID in this crappy red vinyl thing that I got from the bank...that has my bank card in the other side! So I've lost my main access to my checking account and my major piece of ID on my way to pick up a wallet that I lost last week. Brilliant. I am an asshole. Did I mention that the day before I dropped the coin-purse-wallet thing my watch fell off? Gaaaaaar. I need help.

I traipse back and forth, looking for the red ID thing, and I notice a koban. Koban are these mini police stations all over Japan and I pop in because it never hurts to ask, right? This is where I get my lucky break, And this is the part that makes this day be terrible and horrible but not irredeemably noxious: in front of me is a guy on the phone and in front of him on his desk are my ID, my bank card, and a business card that I had miraculously stuck in there. And both he and his sidekick policeman are cute. After filling out two more forms, I get my stuff back, apologize profusely, promise to be more careful, and stagger off to the lost and found, where I fill out three more forms (no lie, dude, I do not lie, three more forms) and wait. While a whole bunch of other people, including a tall skinny guy in hybrid motorcycle-cowboy boots, tight peglegged jeans, cheesy pale blue sunglasses, and a fake snakeskin shirt that I seriously covet, come in and recover their mobile phones and suit jackets, I wait. FINALLY I get called (after once again failing to recognize my name on Japanese lips) and a guy who's caught a little too much sun in his time but has a really nice smile hands me my little wallet and my dough. I stow everything deep in my bags--no falling out, now--and head off for the trek home.

After that, the day just kind of slithered to an end. I tried a new ramen place and had some Kyushu-style ramen with pickled mustard greens, and that part was good. But then I came home and flipped out all over again about the trees.

Even the novel I read today sucked. I don't know what to do to ward off evil influences for tomorrow.