January 23, 2005

"I want to wash my face, my hands, my hair with snow..."

what i wrote yesterday:

The train is suprisingly packed for 8:15 on a Saturday morning. Guess I'm not the only one unlucky enough to have to work/commute in this God awful weather. What gives?

I was peering from my seat into the next car, rows and rows of people, all headed where? Somewhere. And where am I headed? I mean in the scheme of things? dietsoda9 and I had a long talk last night about how maybe it's just us. Maybe we're just ill-adjusted. All the stuff that happened to us when we were kids has made us nuts, so we'll never really be happy. Or well-adjusted. Or something. Always searching, for more, for what?

What I wrote today:

It's Dad's birthday!

So this morning I got up, showered and dressed, and ventured outside. To go to work. In the 18 inches of snow, or however much it is. Hard to say, they kept changing the numbers. I honestly wasn't sure I was going to make it from my front door to the bus stop in one piece. I was wading through these snow drifts, up to my knees in crap. It was like doing underwater aerobics in a giant tank of ice cream. Well, sort of like that.

[Do you remember when an ice cream cone at McDonald's was 39 cents? I do. Today I paid $1.09 for one. But it was good.]

The winds were gusting to 50 mph by noon today, so I don't know what they were at 8 am. The bus finally came, when I'd all but given up hope that it was, in fact, running. Thank God. I made it to work at 10 am, only an hour late. Not too bad. The 2nd train I rode smelled strongly of shit. Yes. Just another great way my day started off. Needless to say, I was in a horrible mood for a while. I'm usually pretty quick to snap out of my moods (once I'm in a warm place and away from scary schizophrenic guys, that is), but this morning was rough. I was pretty bitchy for at least the first half hour of my shift. But pretty bitchy to me is not necessarily pretty bitchy to others. Very rarely do I act out enough so that everyone would agree I'm being horrible. It's just not me. The whole "is there anything I wouldn't do to make people like me?" question. Probably not, I'd say. I like being liked. Personal problem or something.

I somehow thought it would be a good idea to stop by CVS on the way home tonight, so I took the bus a few extra stops and figured I'd walk back home. You're probably thinking, is it just me, or were you just complaining about how difficult it was to walk to the bus stop this morning? You're thinking right. Yes; I'm an idiot sometimes. On the (what seemed like really long) walk home, I encountered some seemingly drunken Polish guys. One of them rolled onto a snowdrift and then onto the ground in front of me, nearly tripping me. They all profusely apologized. I just wanted to get out of the wind. I sped on toward the intersection, and behind me I heard them, singing (shouting) the words to "Let's Talk About Sex." It was funny. Not only did I not want to talk about sex, but I didn't want to talk (to them) about anything. I hauled ass home, where I'm now safe and warm and in my comfy pajamas. And where I will stay for quite a while, 'cause I don't have to be at work till 3 pm tomorrow! YAY. I plan on reading a lot in my library book (that was due January 6th; whoops), re-watching Before Sunset, which dcdemocrat and I rented from the evil cash cow, Blockbuster, but didn't get a chance to watch before she was rudely whisked back to D.C., and catching up on diaries.

The oddest thing about this particular snow-fest is my windows. My apartment is a basement apartment, so my 3 windows are small and look out on people's legs from the knee down. If that makes sense; trying to give a mental image here. So I can only see out of the top 3 or 4 inches of my windows; the snow is covering the rest. SO weird. Well, I'm pretty sure I've written PLENTY here, folks.
addition: yet another living, breathing friend o'mine (and good friend of dcdemocrat) has joined the cult (i mean addiction-hehe) that is diaryland. she is VERBOSE. HA. please consider welcoming s0crates by leaving a note that says, and i quote: "holla." i thank ye, buon notte.

blueavenue at 8:54 p.m.

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