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Dec. 5th, 2012 11:53 amI woke up this morning several times. Upon none of these awakenings did it seem appropriate to get up and get ready for work - my head felt heavy and weird - so I didn't.
At eleven-thirty I woke up for the final time, working through an unclear memory. I was at the Manga Museum in Kyoto in April, and a woman was there with her two resentful and bored small children; they'd come with her husband, who was somewhere else in the building. Her daughter asked her grouchily if there was anything here but comic books under glass, and she said, clearly at the end of her rope, that she didn't know. I interceded and told her that there was a room with art donated for tsunami relief and another with clothes based on manga; she dragged them off towards the first with relief.
I can't remember what language I was talking to this woman in, or whether it really happened. It seems real, none of this seems unreasonable, and both of the exhibits I described are real - but I don't remember ever remembering it before. If it happened, I forgot about it almost immediately, and the recollection has existed in isolation in some sequestered part of my brain, never before jostled into activity due to proximity of any other active thought. Or maybe I just dreamed it this morning, and it's worked its way permanently into my memory of the trip.
At eleven-thirty I woke up for the final time, working through an unclear memory. I was at the Manga Museum in Kyoto in April, and a woman was there with her two resentful and bored small children; they'd come with her husband, who was somewhere else in the building. Her daughter asked her grouchily if there was anything here but comic books under glass, and she said, clearly at the end of her rope, that she didn't know. I interceded and told her that there was a room with art donated for tsunami relief and another with clothes based on manga; she dragged them off towards the first with relief.
I can't remember what language I was talking to this woman in, or whether it really happened. It seems real, none of this seems unreasonable, and both of the exhibits I described are real - but I don't remember ever remembering it before. If it happened, I forgot about it almost immediately, and the recollection has existed in isolation in some sequestered part of my brain, never before jostled into activity due to proximity of any other active thought. Or maybe I just dreamed it this morning, and it's worked its way permanently into my memory of the trip.
