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People you meet on crowded trains
Jun. 25th, 2009 08:34 pmThe DC Metro system has been struggling to move past the fallout of that deadly crash, and I sympathize deeply. I've been anticipating the intense, insane rush of people, the massive delay of trains as they try so hard to accommodate their usual thousands of passengers.
My ride toward Shady Grove was beyond sardine-like. We were all jovial about it, though, bodily supporting those who could not reach poles or handrails or walls. The woman next to me was scrolling through her Blackberry, and suddenly she let out a stunned gasp and called out, "Michael Jackson died!" She was met with calls back of "What?" "Really? "Seriously?" "Oh my god, I'm gonna cry!" "Yeah, Farrah Fawcett died too!" "Ed McMahon died yesterday; what a week for celebrity deaths!" "Wow. Hey, Keith Richards is still alive, right?" I hadn't checked the news yet; I knew about Farrah Fawcett, but not Michael Jackson. Somehow, it seemed unbelievably unreal, as if the man was considered immortal in a way.
I did not get to the Shady Grove station until almost 7:30, an hour later than usual. Caught the 7:35 bus, was greeted by Luna who demanded hugs. I took a Soma, because I was in than much agony and anxiety. I'd messed up a bibliography search request at work, dismissing the results of one search engine in favor of another when that first search would have been fine. I am paranoid that my boss thinks I'm stupid, because the fogginess from both fibro and CP has been hacking away at my short-term memory and judgment and concentration for the last two months, but I don't want to tell him that because I don't know what he'd think, but he just told me to finish the search tomorrow morning. Regardless, I stressed myself out very badly. So I am grateful for the relaxing purr of my cats. The thing I like about the Soma is that it only works when I am in extreme pain.
I need to eat dinner, leftover pasta from last night.
Adam landed safely in Dallas this morning. I miss him, of course.
Mom sent me a fleshy pink ruched cotton sleeveless shirt that no longer fits her, which shows every curve and might work better as a nightshirt, unless I wear a sleeveless camisole underneath. It is sexy as hell, though, and would be a good birthday present for my husband.
My ride toward Shady Grove was beyond sardine-like. We were all jovial about it, though, bodily supporting those who could not reach poles or handrails or walls. The woman next to me was scrolling through her Blackberry, and suddenly she let out a stunned gasp and called out, "Michael Jackson died!" She was met with calls back of "What?" "Really? "Seriously?" "Oh my god, I'm gonna cry!" "Yeah, Farrah Fawcett died too!" "Ed McMahon died yesterday; what a week for celebrity deaths!" "Wow. Hey, Keith Richards is still alive, right?" I hadn't checked the news yet; I knew about Farrah Fawcett, but not Michael Jackson. Somehow, it seemed unbelievably unreal, as if the man was considered immortal in a way.
I did not get to the Shady Grove station until almost 7:30, an hour later than usual. Caught the 7:35 bus, was greeted by Luna who demanded hugs. I took a Soma, because I was in than much agony and anxiety. I'd messed up a bibliography search request at work, dismissing the results of one search engine in favor of another when that first search would have been fine. I am paranoid that my boss thinks I'm stupid, because the fogginess from both fibro and CP has been hacking away at my short-term memory and judgment and concentration for the last two months, but I don't want to tell him that because I don't know what he'd think, but he just told me to finish the search tomorrow morning. Regardless, I stressed myself out very badly. So I am grateful for the relaxing purr of my cats. The thing I like about the Soma is that it only works when I am in extreme pain.
I need to eat dinner, leftover pasta from last night.
Adam landed safely in Dallas this morning. I miss him, of course.
Mom sent me a fleshy pink ruched cotton sleeveless shirt that no longer fits her, which shows every curve and might work better as a nightshirt, unless I wear a sleeveless camisole underneath. It is sexy as hell, though, and would be a good birthday present for my husband.
