I've come down with something. I think Craig and Dad brought it over with them. It's a condition that's exacerbated by having such a significant part of my old Canadian life here in Japan for such an extended time: telling me stories of the people I used to see all the time. It's a sickness you can control, but--just like going out without a jacket--I don't take care, and I start having dreams with Amandas and Allisons and Garcias and Lindsays in them. It puts the chill in me, and when i should be taking nice Japanese vitamins, I wallow instead in foreign junk food like Canadian tunes from Amy. And, at my last possible opportunity to kick this thing by getting to bed at a reasonable time, i elect to stay up, emailing with friends who i feared had forgotten about me, and they assure me that I'm very much still on their minds.
And--just like that--I'm afflicted. It's the antithesis of the Wanderlust, and there's just one way to say it:
I miss you.
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