It's been a rough month for me and mine. I have started to settle in properly in Kyoto, I have seen some beautiful things and met some lovely people, and I am tired, stressed out and run-down. I have spent most of the past three days asleep, and if it weren't for the fact that I think I'm probably sleeping too much I might still be in bed now.
But! For the purposes of me not just complaining all the damned time, here is a nice thing that happened yesterday:
I was in the kitchen making myself some dinner (actually that in itself was a nice thing, words cannot express the enjoyment I got from that steak) and I ran into one of the guys who lives in my building. He said hello, how are you, I haven't seen you in about a month (I've had a cup of tea and a chat with him before). And I said yeah, I've been locked in my room for most of this month, writing a novel.
He asked about the novel. We talked about literature for a while - he said he'd studied Russian literature, was a big fan of Tolstoy and recommended that I read some, and was currently reading Crime and Punishment again; I said I wasn't a huge fan of that book, and we talked about that for a while. He asked to read something of mine sometime. And then he said that he wished he could write novels; if he hadn't decided to devote his time to political science, he'd be doing that instead. I said I've been writing for as long as I can remember. (I did not tell him that my confidence in my writing has pretty much shattered of late; I haven't stopped, but nothing's coming out right. It's like trying to do calligraphy with a broken hand.)
He gave me two Kitkats. "Then you deserve a chocolate," he said. "That one's for writing, and that one's for always writing."
Then he wished me a good night and left.
Now I have two Kitkats, and I feel a little better about myself.