On Friday when I got off the train there were no buses or cabs. That happens on Fridays. There are too many people in the city and things get messed up. I stood on a corner that allows me to see two different bus stops and watched for who would come first. A bus that doesn't usually stop at one of those stops was letting people off. I didn't think he'd let anyone on but he did. As we rode up Third I saw my second bus ahead of us. He was at a stop and had a red light so I took the chance, jumped off my bus and ran toward him waving my pass. I thought he was about leave but he opened the door. Catching these two buses got me home fifteen minutes earlier than I usually get home.

Last night a similar scenario occurred. This time there were no buses because a baseball game was messing with traffic. One came and again my second bus was in front of us. We got to the same place where the red light had stopped the bus on Friday but the light changed and he sped off.

It's hard not to think that I did something right on Friday and something wrong yesterday. Part of me knows better. We make a zillion little choices every day most of which we make without much deliberation. All of which move us in one direction and not another. And all of the people around us are making choices too.

Lately I feel like I'm tossed through a tumble. No sense of agency. Too much frustration with everyone else. And bad meaning making.

I sat near the couple with the matching barrettes the other day. The fact that I had written something about them made me nervous.

Of what?

Can't say.

There are people I see every day. We travel in parallel tracts and don't acknowledge one another. Recording an observation made me feel more intimate with them somehow. Silly, because it's all happening in me. The observation. Even the recording. It is out of me since it is written but it hasn't changed the relationship. And yet it feels like it has. Something feels different. It's like when I made a public acknowledgement that I was aware of them I took on a responsibility. I'm not sure what I mean.

There are moments when the ignoring is breached. One morning it was raining and a man said, "Oh! You're getting all wet." He moved to my side and covered me with his umbrella. It was an act of kindness that cheered everyone who heard the story. He and I have chatted since then. He takes an earlier train to the same shuttle I take. He works at a building next to mine. We take the same bus, a different train, the same shuttle. That kind of thing always makes me wonder. It just seems like something to notice. There isn't really anything to make of it all. But noticing matters.

And again.

I'm not sure what I mean.

There is a young man on my bus most mornings. I noticed him because he reads a lot and I'm always curious to see what people are reading. A month or so ago he started traveling with a young woman. They usually get off the bus and walk ahead of me to the corner and the street light.
I wonder if they met on the commute. The relationship seems new. At first he was always curled towards her. Just so attentive. After awhile they were just walking side by side, obviously together. One morning I saw her reach out and grab his hand. He moved closer and leaned in for a kiss.

Some days their bodies seem to be magnetized. They can't move too far apart. Other mornings they are just with each other, passively. Today she stepped in front of him as they arrived at the corner and stopped to wait for the light. She reached behind and pulled him closer. It was just shudderingly sexy.

There's another couple I see at night. They seem to have been together for awhile. They both have long hair and wear matching hair clips. They are somewhat dour in expression.
Once I was standing behind her and she was behind him. We were waiting for the train to make its last slow rocking slump into the station. She reached up and refastened his hair clip. There wasn't any obvious reason for the action. It just seemed to be an act of tenderness and affection. He looked at her with the same dour expression. Hers didn't change. But so much sweetness seemed to pass between them.

So now a few days go by and I can't get it together to write and I begin to feel like a failure and then more days go by.

Sometimes I spend what feels like hours waiting for the game to load. I try to organize things so that I have something to do while I wait but it's not always possible. The whole time I kept thinking I could be writing a post. But every time I'd decide to go for it the phone would ring, or an email would come,or new data would be announced. Truth be told, I didn't have a thing to say.
Tonight I had an extraordinarily lucky commute and got home ten minutes earlier than my earliest time. I washed the containers in which I carry breakfast and lunch to work. Got into my pjs. All the while determined I would sit down and write. But the sandman has had his way with me already I am drifting, longing for the feel of the pillow under my head.
Sigh.

This has been interesting. I find myself checking for comments. The reason for starting off here is to write without concern for who reads, or doesn't read. But writing in a public space is writing that actively seeks a reader. And old habits die hard.
I'm not sure it would matter if I wrote on my blog. I see I've been taken off a few blog rolls, which isn't surprising. I'm not sure anyone checks in anymore. I don't know how so much time went by. And I still don't know if I can do it again. Every day. Or even often.
The little bit of time I have in the morning at work gets used up by transit traumas and the exigencies of the job. I come home tired and without focus. There's never any time. My topics are mostly found in transit, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Just not always inspiring.
I've been doing my usual hand wringing about why bother. Does it matter? Is it any good? And then I was sitting on the train and over heard a cell phone conversation about a blog, the topic of which seemed rather scandalous. I just smiled. Blogging is still a garden gone wild. There is no right or wrong way to do it.
It's Sunday night. The kitchen floor finally got mopped but, in truth, could used another swipe. Or two. However, the bathroom looks great.
I've been getting food ready for the week. I am always greedy about summer fruit. Peaches, berries, watermelon. I cannot get enough. I went up the street to get stuff for breakfasts.
The surfaces are mostly clean again.
The weekend slips by driven by chores and naps and a movie or two.
I'm just going to keep trying.

Yesterday the bus never showed up. A drag but not a huge problem. At the train station the conductor opened the doors early so I got in my favorite seat and curled up for my nap. Then he announced that we had to get off the train and get on another. Once we were moving they made an announcement that we would be running slow and may be late because of some track issues. We arrived ten minutes late. The shuttle didn't come so I took a cab. Going home was worse.

Fran Lebowitz said that to be in public was to be annoyed. I've wondered if she meant public transportation specifically.