From the archives

13 October 2007

I'm high and out of breath.  I just raced into the bowels of St. Patrick station and it feels like the hardest thing I've ever done.  Buying tokens used all the mental capacity I left the house with this evening.  I was staring at the transfer machine for about four minutes when I heard the rumbling of the train below me.  I sprinted down the escalator with both hands on the rails, in time to see the doors of the southbound close in my face.  I tried to shrug it off like I wasn't really interested in that train anyway, but everyone knew better.

So here I am on the platform trying to catch my breath and waiting for another train.  I figure I might as well document this trip since I have nothing better to do.  Tonight should be a good night.  And by "good" I mean stressful, trying, and awkward.

But I want to mention something quickly. Before I started writing these words, I leafed through this notebook and a rather disturbing realization hit me.  This is a God damn diary.  I feel like a girl admitting this.  And worse, I've whipped it out in public.  An expression of awesome

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FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!  I am now standing on the Northbound platform having missed my train a second time.  Well, it's the first time missing my train, but the second train I missed tonight.  If that makes any sense.  In my state of being completely baked I attempted to catch, and missed, and subsequently waited for a train I didn't even want to take.

Only after a few minutes of notebook faggotry did I catch the sound of the approaching Northbound train and my synapses snapped to life.  I barely had time to jam my notebook into my pocket and run to the other side before missing the train.  Again.

God, I am so fucking high right now.  I hate first dates.