![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteleinSince ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thajinx's visit here last week, I've been intensely aware of how easily I could slip back into the doldrums. Having a whole week of adventuring by bus and train and cab, with very little rushing between, going to places that sparkle and glimmer, having someone there to laugh with or just sit in comfortable silence with, well. It'd just be too easy to let things be bleak in the aftermath, you know?
Changing my work commute has been one little thing I've done this week to keep me on my toes.
See, here's the thing: in the morning the routine is to walk out of my apartment building door, turn right, and head to the street. At this moment my head whips sharply right, and I will squint. My vision is still good, see, but I squint because that's what people do when they scan the vanishing point for one particular boxy shape with a yellow lighted display along the top. The boxy bus shape that either means a) run like hell for the earlier stop, b) run like hell on wheels to the later stop, c) stand there and weep for terrible timing, or d) stroll amiably to either stop, thankful for a well-mannered start to the day.
The bus itself is all manner of pushing and shoving and meaningful glares at the putzes WHO WON'T MOVE BACK, when they can CLEARLY SEE that there are people mashed up against the front doors WHO HAVE PAID THEIR FARE AND ARE TRYING TO GET TO WORK, TOO. There are the people, who, when arriving at the Big Stop That Nearly Everyone Vacates At, will get up super-early and pretend as though they are the only person getting off there. And then it's the mad, mad rush off the bus, down two sets of stone steps to the tunnel, through a fare gate, and then down another flight of steps to the train platform, where many of us jockey for position, or make a mad dash for the nearest open doors, as the trains don't really wait for anyone. Not during rush hour.
Once inside the train, it's musical chairs for the best/only seats, and then a long, rumbly ride to the elevated track (and the elevated salaries), where laptop bags poke you in the side and preening girls look vaguely scandalized at having to share a car with the blue collars. And then, underground, rattling and fast and more and more crowded.
The exodus of the train leads to a mad dash for the escalator (or stairs, if the escalator's broken), and then out the gate, and then up some more stairs.
And then, I power-walk a half mile to my office door.
By the time I get to work, I'm feeling a bit worn.
And then! I sit at a desk all day. Inertia. Mmm.
Reverse the mad dash home, but add tourists.
So, this week, I've been taking two longer bus rides. I get out of the house a bit earlier, and I can doze a little, or do some reading. It's been really nice.
This morning, on a whim, I took a different second bus (several lines run down the same street, as it's near the lake, so many streets narrow and converge here), and it turned out to be one of the best ideas ever. I was on Lake Shore Drive, gazing out to my left at the lake. The water was dappled and silvery, with light yellow patches where the sun was breaking through the clouds. The lagoon looked peaceful and green, and the pieces of Michigan Avenue I could see through the gaps of buildings along the river were as pretty as a postcard. Actually, a lot prettier, cos it was real, and I was right there, watching the sun gain strength over everything. The bus was air conditioned, about half-full, and the commuters were quiet, almost meditative.
I alighted at a stop a mere quarter block from my office door. No rushing. Right on time.
thajinx's visit here last week, I've been intensely aware of how easily I could slip back into the doldrums. Having a whole week of adventuring by bus and train and cab, with very little rushing between, going to places that sparkle and glimmer, having someone there to laugh with or just sit in comfortable silence with, well. It'd just be too easy to let things be bleak in the aftermath, you know?Changing my work commute has been one little thing I've done this week to keep me on my toes.
See, here's the thing: in the morning the routine is to walk out of my apartment building door, turn right, and head to the street. At this moment my head whips sharply right, and I will squint. My vision is still good, see, but I squint because that's what people do when they scan the vanishing point for one particular boxy shape with a yellow lighted display along the top. The boxy bus shape that either means a) run like hell for the earlier stop, b) run like hell on wheels to the later stop, c) stand there and weep for terrible timing, or d) stroll amiably to either stop, thankful for a well-mannered start to the day.
The bus itself is all manner of pushing and shoving and meaningful glares at the putzes WHO WON'T MOVE BACK, when they can CLEARLY SEE that there are people mashed up against the front doors WHO HAVE PAID THEIR FARE AND ARE TRYING TO GET TO WORK, TOO. There are the people, who, when arriving at the Big Stop That Nearly Everyone Vacates At, will get up super-early and pretend as though they are the only person getting off there. And then it's the mad, mad rush off the bus, down two sets of stone steps to the tunnel, through a fare gate, and then down another flight of steps to the train platform, where many of us jockey for position, or make a mad dash for the nearest open doors, as the trains don't really wait for anyone. Not during rush hour.
Once inside the train, it's musical chairs for the best/only seats, and then a long, rumbly ride to the elevated track (and the elevated salaries), where laptop bags poke you in the side and preening girls look vaguely scandalized at having to share a car with the blue collars. And then, underground, rattling and fast and more and more crowded.
The exodus of the train leads to a mad dash for the escalator (or stairs, if the escalator's broken), and then out the gate, and then up some more stairs.
And then, I power-walk a half mile to my office door.
By the time I get to work, I'm feeling a bit worn.
And then! I sit at a desk all day. Inertia. Mmm.
Reverse the mad dash home, but add tourists.
So, this week, I've been taking two longer bus rides. I get out of the house a bit earlier, and I can doze a little, or do some reading. It's been really nice.
This morning, on a whim, I took a different second bus (several lines run down the same street, as it's near the lake, so many streets narrow and converge here), and it turned out to be one of the best ideas ever. I was on Lake Shore Drive, gazing out to my left at the lake. The water was dappled and silvery, with light yellow patches where the sun was breaking through the clouds. The lagoon looked peaceful and green, and the pieces of Michigan Avenue I could see through the gaps of buildings along the river were as pretty as a postcard. Actually, a lot prettier, cos it was real, and I was right there, watching the sun gain strength over everything. The bus was air conditioned, about half-full, and the commuters were quiet, almost meditative.
I alighted at a stop a mere quarter block from my office door. No rushing. Right on time.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-06-22 09:08 pm (UTC)awesome!
i don't always comment because i have nothing to add, but i always admire your writing
no subject
Date: 2006-06-22 09:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-22 09:32 pm (UTC)