As I write this, it’s two in the morning, my aikata is loudly sleep talking in the next bed over, and I am wide awake and cursing myself for drinking caffeine so late in the night.

I’ve been stuck up in the mountains two and a half hours out from Tokyo for the past week and a half, once again extolling the many virtues of a hastily assembled hot spring attraction based on a TV show that a relatively small percentage of the Japanese population even watches.

Our shifts run twelve hours, the weather ranges from uncomfortably hot to typhoon-ey, the hours spent standing in lukewarm human stew water can turn even the toughest part of your feet into a bloody mash, and, to top it off, I’m not even sure I’m getting paid for this.

A walk on the red carpet, this is not.

Aside from the occasional typhoon shutting down the resort for the day, there are no days off, meaning that, for over half a month, the most rest you’ll get is the occasionally catnap backstage.

I guess one of the main perks of doing this sort of gig is the chance to meet hundreds of potential fans (i.e. people who’ll come to your show and buy tickets) but the vast majority of the people who’re coming to check out this onsen aren’t exactly the type to immediately check out your live show back in Tokyo.  Unfortunately for me, desperately grasps at gaining new “fans” are pretty much all I have at this point in this gig.

And so I’m here wide awake.