Last weekend I moved out on my own for the first time ever. I say on my own...I have two housemates...but I mean in the sense that I'm now dependent only on myself. As much freedom as I did admittedly have (and why shouldn't I? I'm 21, dammit), there's still the obligation of making sure other members of the household know that you're leaving and when to expect you back et cetera because that's what you do. And there was still the obligation to drive non-driving members of the family to the places they needed to be and put aside time for whatever petty little shit they needed to drag you into. You know? So now there's none of that. I mean the housemates are my friends so if it's a big deal I'll fill them in on "the haps," but for the most part there are no tethers of any kind.
I think, though, that it hasn't been long enough for me to feel like anything has changed. I mean I jump on the train north instead of the bus south now. And I wake up an hour later. And I kind of just bum around not having to worry about being in anybody's way after work. But so what? I dunno why I even typed those last few sentences now. I guess just to emphasize my point that I don't feel like much is that different. Maybe my family and I have just been that disassociated with each other for long enough that the transition away from them wasn't as momentous as people make it out to be? Maybe people have never really made it out to be anything and I'm just a sentimental doofus who expected more all my life. Whatever.
So ya, now I take the C-Train to work in the morning, just another mope among the horde of mopes ceaselessly battling for a spot near the door so we can all get out when we get to our stops. Worse, though, is the arduous ride back home. I mean it's only four or five stops, but it's to the point that you can't call it a ride. Rides are supposed to be thrilling. Whimsical. Fun. This shit is like a trial, conviction, and sentence all in one. But I refuse to become just another one of the frowning, thousand-yard-stare drones packed onto the train. Like look at this red haired chick here in front of me. I'm impressing the crap out of her with my not-holding-on balancing skills. She's all fluttering her eyes and fanning herself. I'm spectacular.
But really, she's just a sad looking Puerto Rican woman mushed up against the sea of unpleasant, tired people. I want to take her picture and send it to my friends so we can all laugh at the miserable grown-ups, but I'm afraid my shiny phone will catch her eye and wake the bloodlust she's been trying to control for the past five centuries. The last thing my poor mother needs to read in the newspaper is that her son incited a public transportation-based vampiric massacre during rush hour. So instead I just smile at another old lady who looks like she has cute stories about recycling bottles in 1943 with her husband. She doesn't smile back. Probably thinks I'm patronizing her 'cuz she's old. I hate old ladies and their attitudes.
Anyways, that was all I really had to share about that. Maybe if something particularly nifty and new happens with regards to my living situation, I'll post about that. But I just wanted to blab about riding the train. I'm real fucking exciting.
Sad Blogger out.
PS- I am still writing things. I have about 13 drafts going that I intend to publish eventually. I haven't been slacking, I swear. Just busy. Why am I justifying myself to you people? Why am I clinging to the delusion that there even is a "you people"? Sigh.
Episode 2 - A Bucket of Beeps
11 years ago