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December
12, 2005. Time slows down when you suddenly don't have a car. Each step of my day now requires careful consideration: what do I need, what needs to be done? How can I do it? Auto-complete in my browser windows at work and home list several URLs for subway maps and trip planner results. I'm not exactly a seasoned survivalist, but I do feel as though my general anxiety over triple-checking for keys, gloves, transit card, chapstick, book to read, petty cash, are justified now. There is no going back, once you've stepped on the bus. There's a point of no return as one lurches down a corrugated aisle that pitches and swerves with the street corners and traffic. It's a garish, fluorescent-lit pirate ship peopled with scowlers and crazies. We're doomed, a collective of commuters, headed the way we're going, no matter what. To the death we follow the line. Automatic love, soulless, somewhat efficient. Transitory affection. I have noticed more self-talkers as of late. Maybe it's the season. The man standing behind me for two stops before getting off at the stop I rang for was a cheap date, though: his muttered, breathy rants were hardly discernible to my ear. I wondered if maybe he was talking of smells, or of sounds. I've noticed that a lot - some basic senses seem so overwhelming that these people must, simply must speechify on the evils of people singing, or wearing perfume, or the colors of the sky, the streetlights, your hair. My piece of adjustment for today was taking the bus a few stops further than the one closest to my apartment. Several of the shops right across the street or down the block are great for smaller food items like general produce or the odd can of soup, the totally caged and hormoned dozen eggs, but cat food and kitty litter? We're talking stale, low-end stuff that would likely leave my cats a sick mess, in litter that would coat the apartment in dust and reek of deoderizers. So I went to the larger chain drugstore, and then I walked back the way I came, lugging the litter in one hand, the cat food in the other, a receipt in my change purse showing the premium price I paid. Ah well. More time to think. More navigation of the sidewalks that are half-shoveled. Narrow worn paths down the middle, guiding me home. go
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