I’m not very fond of it, my commute home.
I don’t so much mind the ride in the morning. In fact, it’s peaceful and uncrowded and the signal on my phone connects pretty well for most of the trip. I’ve discovered that it’s as good a working environment as any to begin a new poem or a short story in just under an hour.
But right now, I’m riding the train home. It’s loud and it’s crowded and no one is self-aware enough to notice just how annoying they are to everyone else. Text messaging dings followed by gum chewing pops.
Some of us are still occupied with work that should have been left behind earlier. The rest are trying to set their minds on that place to which we are anxiously heading. A place where we are loved and cherished and neglected – all at the same time.
And all I really care about is whether I will be able to finish this piece before I get to my station, even as I bother my seat mate by annoyingly tapping out words on my phone.
It turns out that the answer is yes.
Image Credit: My Own Photo