I hope yours is going better than mine

Not-that-cold for 5 minutes is a helluva lot different than not-that-cold for 40 minutes. Of course I knew this, but the morning brought it into sharp focus. My first bus was just late enough to allow me the unique opportunity of watching my train pull away. Normally this whole scenario happens in reverse. At the end of my day I get off of the train just in time to watch the bus drive away.
Why even stop at the frackin train station if you’re going to set the schedule off by just enough time to make the stop completely useless. I don’t want to wait almost an hour for public transportation. This is beginning to seem like a purposed attempt to piss off anybody trying to use the transit system. Every freaking day, I’ve got to feel nervous about when the bus is coming and if it is going to get me to the train on time. Every freaking day I’ve got to watch that stupid bus add another half of a mile to my walk home - and I pay them for this. And I mean - they can see each other. The bus can see the train. The train can see the bus. Why would you pull away before anyone could have a chance to make their way from one to the next? That just seems stupid and mean.
Aaaah, to feel helpless, cold, and angry at dawn. If I get any more patient I’m going to slip into a coma. Reading about how everything makes Holden Caulfield sort of sad and lonely does nothing to change my mood and on my second bus I find myself listening to some phony on the bus chatting up some girl.
He’s trying to seem too young; she’s trying to seem too old. Neither one of them have much to say, but they keep talking anyway. It’s the worst kind of conversation.
“Did you hear about that guy in Alabama who said all that stuff about you not being his brother if you aren’t a Christian?”
“No I didn’t. That’s wild. You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that.”
“I don’t think he was joking.”
“I know he wasn’t”
How the hell do you know he wasn’t if you don’t even know what she’s talking about? He goes on to say:
“I consider myself a Joe Six Pack, ya know. I don’t really trust science stuff. I listen to talk radio. Not all of it. Just the stuff I like.”
“I don’t really listen to the radio. I get most of my news from the internet.”
“Oh yeah, me too. But you know – I like to listen to some of the guys talk about sports or cars or whatever.”
This is a grown man. He looks to me like a professor; calico beard, nice scarf, long coat and expensive shoes. She’s not too far out of college; a year, maybe two. She got on that grey penciled legged office attire that translates well to happy hour. They both seem to have jobs in politics. I can’t tell who is conning who, but it bores me and I can’t escape. I pretend to read, but their conversation eats away at my concentration until I am just staring blankly at the book so that I don’t give them my patented, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ look.
Anyway, I made it to work. I stayed in my coat for about an hour, trying to get my core temperature back up to where I like it. My spine hurts a little. I am flailing about my universe in search of something to redeem this morning. I am all kinds of out of sync. The Capitol Metro is just some twisted object lesson I didn’t need. And all I can think is, ‘I should’ve been nicer to my family last night.’ Blargh. The wolf moon can take a flying leap.
I’m going to go scroll through Twitter and Facebook until I find something that makes me giggle. Then I guess I’ll try to get some work done. Anyway, good morning to ya. I hope yours is going better than mine.