stranger things have happened.
I went to visit my mom in sammamish yesterday, and as usual, I rode the bus.
the problem with riding the bus (well, one of them anyway) is that I always seem to have more things to carry than is comfortable. yesterday, I had my purse, my laptop bag (with card-making materials in it, actually, not a laptop), my water bottle, and a bag with some leftovers and small purchases from target. I didn't really want anything else to carry with me, as I was already pretty burdened.
I got to the park and ride about 12 minutes early, mostly because I'd confused the time that the bus was suppose to leave, so I sat down on one of the cold benches to wait. next to me, a copy of the stranger lay. normally, I'm not one to read the stranger; it's always seemed a little to hip, a little too punk, a little too much. but the feature article was advertised on the cover as: suicide and cookies: megan seling on the longest season of the year, which intrigued me. cookies. I like cookies. suicide, well, not so much. but I'm well aware of the dampening of spirits here in the pacific northwest during the winter months (also known as SAD, seasonal affective disorder). plus, I still had about 7 minutes to spare.
I started reading, and I was hooked.
I know those feelings, even if mine aren't nearly to the extent that hers are. I find solace in grocery stores, wandering the aisles. I like the sense of accomplishment that baking has, I know what it's like to feel like I don't fit in at work.
the bus came too quickly; I wasn't done reading yet. it didn't occur to me at the time that I could probably find the article online and read it later; I HAD to finish reading. so I took the paper with me. along with all the other crap I was carrying on the bus. but then I realized that I was tearing up. and that I should probably wait until I was at home to finish reading. I brought it with me anyway.
I like reading things that have that effect on me, even if I'm slightly embarrassed to read them in public. it's been a while since that's happened. a blog entry by one of my friends made me tear up a little; I think that was the last time it happened, and it was two months ago. before that, david sedaris's repeat after me, and one of my earliest memories of having literature make me cry was animal farm. they're usually few and far between, but it's nice to have a little reminder now and then, a reminder that there's still a part of me that wants to connect with other people through reading and writing.
now if only I could be able to write and have this effect on someone else. even if I can't, at least I can share these experiences. I suppose that's a start.
the problem with riding the bus (well, one of them anyway) is that I always seem to have more things to carry than is comfortable. yesterday, I had my purse, my laptop bag (with card-making materials in it, actually, not a laptop), my water bottle, and a bag with some leftovers and small purchases from target. I didn't really want anything else to carry with me, as I was already pretty burdened.
I got to the park and ride about 12 minutes early, mostly because I'd confused the time that the bus was suppose to leave, so I sat down on one of the cold benches to wait. next to me, a copy of the stranger lay. normally, I'm not one to read the stranger; it's always seemed a little to hip, a little too punk, a little too much. but the feature article was advertised on the cover as: suicide and cookies: megan seling on the longest season of the year, which intrigued me. cookies. I like cookies. suicide, well, not so much. but I'm well aware of the dampening of spirits here in the pacific northwest during the winter months (also known as SAD, seasonal affective disorder). plus, I still had about 7 minutes to spare.
I started reading, and I was hooked.
I know those feelings, even if mine aren't nearly to the extent that hers are. I find solace in grocery stores, wandering the aisles. I like the sense of accomplishment that baking has, I know what it's like to feel like I don't fit in at work.
the bus came too quickly; I wasn't done reading yet. it didn't occur to me at the time that I could probably find the article online and read it later; I HAD to finish reading. so I took the paper with me. along with all the other crap I was carrying on the bus. but then I realized that I was tearing up. and that I should probably wait until I was at home to finish reading. I brought it with me anyway.
I like reading things that have that effect on me, even if I'm slightly embarrassed to read them in public. it's been a while since that's happened. a blog entry by one of my friends made me tear up a little; I think that was the last time it happened, and it was two months ago. before that, david sedaris's repeat after me, and one of my earliest memories of having literature make me cry was animal farm. they're usually few and far between, but it's nice to have a little reminder now and then, a reminder that there's still a part of me that wants to connect with other people through reading and writing.
now if only I could be able to write and have this effect on someone else. even if I can't, at least I can share these experiences. I suppose that's a start.