cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

bu’sted

so there’s no hoping that the bus guy ignores me, or doesn’t ignore me, anymore. and his name’s not marc, but it’s damn close.

my ancient, screeching hulk of a computer at work was replaced today, by something not much smaller or faster, but i’ll take what i can get. as a result, i was a few minutes late leaving work. i tend to walk rather slowly – moseying, i think it’s called – if i’m not walking with someone, and since sarah wasn’t with me i moseyed the whole way to the bus stop. looked up just in time to discover that my bus was already at the stop and totally boarded before i even got to the right corner. it was early of all things! so i leapt onto the bus as it started to churn away from the curb, just like in the movies, if the woman in the movies ever had to fumble for a tiny yellow booklet of commuter tickets in the bottom of a purse she should have given to goodwill years ago, really, because the liner seam is ripped and things disappear into the bottom like voyager did in that one star trek episode, into that subspace anomaly or whatever they’re always disappearing into. somehow i managed. somehow. i bear this burden.

the part i hate most about riding the bus is figuring out where to sit when i have to sit next to someone else. i’ve just about given up attempting any sort of tactical maneuvering in this realm because as it turns out the very people i judge to be “lights off, no talky talk” people are usually the ones who not only click their reading light on but mine too and while i am blinking in the light of not one but two million-watt bulbs shining directly into my retinas aforementioned people decide they want to discuss the least interesting local political issues they can muster out of their snarky little yuppie lives.

i’m tired. and i have issues. all i want is to nap so i give up and pick a seat, arrange myself, and glance over to see who will be my lights-on, talky talk partner today.

why, it’s marc. surprised, i say, “hello!” and he says hi back, and there it dies.

not again … i don’t want to always be the girl who feels sorry for herself, who wishes she were just a little bit more outgoing so she would do things as she thought of them, instead of worrying them out of possibility.

“so. what book are you reading?” i mumble, glancing over. whoa, did i just say that out loud?

he flips the cover closed. it’s don quixote. i grin. and we talk for the rest of the way home, about work and college degrees and living in the bay area and our spouses and then a rousing discussion of several movies … normal human chitchat stuff. normal human stuff. hey, i’m communicating like a normal human. how abnormal.

maybe next i’ll figure out how to talk to girls.

An IndieWeb Webring 🕸💍

I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.