Ugh. Through no solicitation on my part I got myself one of those hated “snugglers” that I have talked about many a time, too many times to count.
I have one of the classic variety: homely, large and bulbous, trash romance novel reader, scraggly mousy hair, dressed in powder-blue fleece, then last but not least smashes into my left side allowing absolutely no escape for my thigh so that it must inadvertently adhere to her own through involuntary hydrogen bonding. Odious to the last, her arm even makes it over into my so-called personal space while turning pages in her book: EVERY.SINGLE.TIME
-And when this happens her elbow brushes, scrapes, presses, and rubs against my upper arm and shoulder.
-And then don’t even talk about when the bus turns to the left, thusly eliciting the Coriolis acceleration which harnesses her colossal mechanical property of inertia and ends in the execution of Newton’s First Law of the bus fuselage canceling normal force; myself as the rigid spring/damper system betwixt this execrated arrangement.
Bah!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
8-June-2010 5:00PM
Today I drift onto an alternate route, its current taking me down to a slightly different tributary into a dissimilar pass of my neighborhood. Quietly, I sign to my neighbor (literal one) that I’ll be taking another. I then wave “goodbye.”
So far, this bus is sparsely populated with very little if any of the “anticommuter” category. The imminent rain, which at first thought over may be the cause, for it tends to wash away the riff-raff that would otherwise beleaguer the whole entire ride up. Not that regulars don’t already do that with their myriad of vexing attributes such as speaking loudly into cell phones, spread eagle legs causing knocking knees, lack of control for caloric intake that results in a hot sweaty Velcro effect with one’s own leg, packs, straps, boxes, bags piled and stacked which in all intents and purposes is a total hazard. I mean I could go on and on being subjected to so much of the preponderance of offenses. Really, those listed are typically the minor ones.
-But the mood strikes me as anxious although I am unable to pinpoint the cause. These is a pit forming in the deep recesses of my gut like panic unrestrained that seemingly spreads about like the Black Plague. I find myself succumbed to the unexplained, the unfelt, an irony in itself. I breathe deeply, but it does nothing to relieve this mysterious internal strife. I seek to distract myself from this onslaught, but as I engage in those other pursuits, that gnawing disquiet scratches at the portal of my consciousness. It will not relent in its perseverance, nor its hellacious pursuit.
So far, this bus is sparsely populated with very little if any of the “anticommuter” category. The imminent rain, which at first thought over may be the cause, for it tends to wash away the riff-raff that would otherwise beleaguer the whole entire ride up. Not that regulars don’t already do that with their myriad of vexing attributes such as speaking loudly into cell phones, spread eagle legs causing knocking knees, lack of control for caloric intake that results in a hot sweaty Velcro effect with one’s own leg, packs, straps, boxes, bags piled and stacked which in all intents and purposes is a total hazard. I mean I could go on and on being subjected to so much of the preponderance of offenses. Really, those listed are typically the minor ones.
***
As we push onto the highway, the articulate craft is filled to seat capacity, most per the customary sleep, read, listening to music, browsing the net with their handhelds…again, I could go on as I always have ad nauseum.-But the mood strikes me as anxious although I am unable to pinpoint the cause. These is a pit forming in the deep recesses of my gut like panic unrestrained that seemingly spreads about like the Black Plague. I find myself succumbed to the unexplained, the unfelt, an irony in itself. I breathe deeply, but it does nothing to relieve this mysterious internal strife. I seek to distract myself from this onslaught, but as I engage in those other pursuits, that gnawing disquiet scratches at the portal of my consciousness. It will not relent in its perseverance, nor its hellacious pursuit.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
8-June-2010 5:54AM
The Pixies' Gigantic pipes through the player up into the strung wires then into my ears through those miniature speakers as I stand along the roadside. 'Megan' (as I call her) walks over in her ever-present exploration between a comfortable stroll and in anticipating amble. She quickly turns away from me upon her arrival, her soles crunching against the gravel as she flourishes. I exit my attention of her presence and breathe deep through my nose, taking in the chill to set my consciousness ablaze. The air is clear and the sky appears as a pale blue, a rarity to be sure since it has been raining constant for what seems like months and months. Before I am able to contemplate further, an elongated articulated bus rolls up, its engine groaning under its own weight. 'Megan' shows the vacant-eyed driver her pass, to which he displays absolutely no reaction whatsoever in spite of the fact that he had swiveled his hulking form about forty-five degrees so he could observe us two fully as we enter.
'Megan' takes an elevated seat ahead of the pivot joint, where I end up slightly behind it. After I settle in, it's not long until I must endure an over-the-top mutated Midwestern-Southern twang from a shaggy "mulleted" ectomorph. He embarks with a similar entourage at where else but that stop I dub as the 'Pickle-Ernie.' The reason of this nomenclature being previously documented within the endless archives of the past five years. Not only is the unrelenting "twang" in full effect, but the incessant tang of recently smoked tobacco combined with unwashed bodies, hints of cheap hard liquor mixed with stomach bile, and of course squirrely ogling.
You know, all those components that make a ride complete and meaningful.
'Megan' takes an elevated seat ahead of the pivot joint, where I end up slightly behind it. After I settle in, it's not long until I must endure an over-the-top mutated Midwestern-Southern twang from a shaggy "mulleted" ectomorph. He embarks with a similar entourage at where else but that stop I dub as the 'Pickle-Ernie.' The reason of this nomenclature being previously documented within the endless archives of the past five years. Not only is the unrelenting "twang" in full effect, but the incessant tang of recently smoked tobacco combined with unwashed bodies, hints of cheap hard liquor mixed with stomach bile, and of course squirrely ogling.
You know, all those components that make a ride complete and meaningful.
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