Dearest Rachel -
In fairness, I was not planning on staying aboard the ship for as long as I did this morning. For all the time I'd spent in Tokyo yesterday on two separate occasions, it seemed only fair to give Yokohama a little attention; after all, that's where we are. However, between a sore and blistered toe (that's what comes of twenty-seven thousand steps in a given day) and my attention being diverted to assembling some of the footage from last night, I wasn't in any hurry to get out. Besides, I really had no – and still don't have – any idea as to where I might go.
The view from the ship suggests a lot of options, but nothing particularly standing out.
But as the song says, "you don't have to go home, you just can't stay here." I've gotten a couple of knocks on my state room door from Marlon, reminding me that the maintenance team was supposed to be coming around to clean up the outside of the ship on a room-by-room basis; this is the third time that's happened since we left L.A. Not a complaint, mind you, just an observation; I realize that these are routine things that need to be done on our regular basis. And I am only happy enough to get out, as these tasks are very important, and it's not as if I'm ever going to be in this port again, most likely. I just never seem to be ready to when he comes knocking.
But ready or not, I scrape myself (and the few things I need to have with me) together, and make my way off the ship, this time with a lot less confusion as to how to leave, now that I've done it twice already. Now, the only confusion is what to do now that I'm off the ship.
I'm torn about heading towards the Ferris wheel; not only have I just ridden on one (well, 'just' being a relative term – it has been over two months since then), this is Sunday, and therefore a traditional date day (especially here in Japan, where they do have school on Saturdays, even if only for half the day), this is not only going to be a matter of dealing with a large crowd, most likely, it's also going to mean picking at a still sore wound.
Look, I know that the couples that I'm seeing are at least a generation younger than myself, and when we were that age, we were that kind of happy, too. I can at least say that I have memories of being like these kids. But that's all they are now, memories, and it bothers me to think that I may have no such future like they do to look forward to. It's one thing to have fewer years left than they do – I can accept that gracefully enough – but the fact that those years would be devoid of something as important as yourself, well…
Still, it's the most prominent landmark on the bayside skyline, so I find myself drawn to it. Lo and behold, it turns out to be merely the landmark attraction of an entire amusement park. And weirdly enough, one can just wander straight into the park; there's no admission fee required. And I'm struck by the fact that the place isn't crowded on a sunny Sunday midday.
At the same time, most of what's going on here is not really my thing (especially when I'm here on my own – and even if I was really into getting on one roller coaster or another, it isn't as if I could film the trip), and while it's probably the same thing between entrance fees and ride fees, in the final tally, I'm unaccustomed – and resistant – to paying for individual rides. And let's face it, the one that would probably interest me the most – the Virtual Reality Vehicle – would probably involve a narrator instructing me to do one thing or another throughout the course of the ride (if for no other reason that to explain how to experience it), and I wouldn't be able to understand what was going on. At least with a ferris wheel or a roller coaster, there's nothing particularly to understand.
But no matter; I decide I'm not that interested, and wander across the street to a six-story mall that I passed on my way here, and had given some thought to walking through at the time. Now I was free to do just that. 
As a side note, just catty corner from CosmoWorld is a museum dedicated to the history of the cup noodle. Well, where else would it be except in Japan? It might've been tempting, even if only on a curiosity level, except for the fact that I suspect that museums will be mostly for the locals' edification, i.e., the captions would be written in Japanese, so it wouldn't benefit me to pay the admission and check the place out. maybe I'm assuming too much, but that's why I passed it up, and didn't even point the camera in that direction, so as to pique everybody's interest; I'd basically dismissed it out of hand on the spot.
Anyway, as you can probably tell, for all my walking around in the mall, I didn't do a whole lot of sticking around. For all the stores that I passed by and through, I didn't really find much that gave me pause – at least, not as a customer. There were those two fellows playing like virtuosos on the… what I'll call 'Drum Drum Revolution,' for lack of knowing the game's real name; you can figure out what it must've been like just from that description, I think. I even struggled to find a suitable gachapon for either of the boys. I settled on one, but I really don't know how it'll go over.
I sometimes wonder if I need to be a little less judicious with my money yet.
Be that as it may, I returned outside, and continued to wend my way back, dealing with a crowd of festival goers, and in the process, discovering some thing about myself: 
You probably know that Tokyo is considered analogous to New York City: it is where everything happens, and "if [you] can make it there, [you can] make it anywhere." I think I've discovered that I can't make it there. I like cities well enough (at least, to visit, in preference to nature and natural environments), and I enjoy being in crowds, to a certain extent, but between Kabuki-cho and this festival, I'm starting to wonder if I don't have my limits. If the crowds are too thick, and the lines are too long, I can't deal with it. I can pass through it, and be fine with it, but that's the extent of the interaction I'm willing to have. A moment or two of crowd-surfing is fun, but miles of it gets to be overwhelming, and eventually I want to retreat to where I can be by myself (or with that one other person – you know what I mean), and just collect myself.
Tokyo, and Yokohama in its shadow, don't really seem to let you do any of that, at least once the day really gets started (to be sure, that gives strength to the idea of being a morning person, if you're at all less than fully extroverted). That's not to cast shade on either of them; that's just in their nature. In fact, that's their appeal. Indeed, I think it's what attracted me to coming here and experiencing them. And maybe there are still parts of both cities that I would be just fine with; for all I know, I chucked myself into the deep end, and here I'm complaining about the fact that I'm in the deep end. I've really got no one to blame for this but myself. It's a strange lesson to learn from this experience, but it's a lesson all the same.
There's also something to be said for the possibility of going back and checking out Chicago to the same extent I've done Tokyo and Yokohama these past couple of days; although I think I'd prefer to drag someone with me if I were to do so, just to play my reactions off against (and vice versa). I can't just stay in my room once I return.
On the other hand, I think I'd like to go back to mine at this point, now that I've done this. We're off to Shimizu tomorrow, so… that will be interesting in it's own right. Until then, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I'm going to need it.
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