Hotel Route Inn Honhachinohe Ekimae
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Travel Blogs from Hachinohe
At home in England with a hangover. The usual Saturday morning solpedeine took the edge off. And the familiar sensation of waking up and not remembering how I got in to bed set the morning off to a rocky start.
Tumble down the stairs and make a cup of tea. Try not to scald my hand in the process. Try and remember snippets of last night. How did the postman end up at mine with a bottle of wine? (Actually my parents house). Pretty sure I had ...
... the decorations. ...and eating something from any of the numerous food booths. I also like to see the local Japanese in their traditional kimonos.
According to wikipedia:
Tanabata (七夕, ...
... suddenly dawns on me how the physical figure really is a product to some people. Not one I have ever used, or in fact considered perfecting.
But in Rice Country, where white seems to be right, (and it appauls me to admit so), why on earth shouldnt I go for it?
I already sell my voice, I will soon start a youtube English teaching job, so if a bit of cleavage and a short skirt can line my purse with gold for ...
... bet that made me do it.
It was, because, like that little girl in Drop Dead Fred, I wanted to stay true to my inner self.
I wanted to be the kind of person that could give up my vanity, and could look like a proper minger for a few months.
I wanted the freedom of being able to cast away my aesthetic appearance. And I also, really, really didn't want to lose to my brother. (A rivalry with him dominated most of ...
I feel the ghosts of ex-lovers burning in the wind.
Oh where is my Tokyo spring?
Skeletons in the closet, baggage in the dark,
the cries of weeping angels, are tearing me apart.
Love that turns and runs its red river dry, beating down I
croak, I choke, I cry.
I feel the ghosts of ex-lovers ...