|
|
28.02.07
I was standing in line at the bus depot on campus behind this scruffy-looking academic type who decided to light up a cigarette. Then this girl in a jester hat-type thing walks up to the girl waiting behind me and asks “Have you heard of Reiki?”. Jester-hat girl then proceeds to perform some metaphysical laying on of hands on the other girl. We all tried not to stare. Between the secondhand smoke and the energy healing on either side of me, the open doors of the waiting B-line one stop over never looked so good.
Despite my silent encouragement to hurry up, my bus still hadn’t showed up by the time the girl behind me had been sufficiently Reikified. Jester-hat then moved on to me, “Have you heard of Reiki?”
“…no”, I reluctantly admitted. Hey, if I’ll humour the Jehovah’s Witnesses about Creationism, I’m not going to shut her down over this.
“Hold your hands out like this,” she said, cupping her hands in front of her.
I did, and she proceeded to work her fuzzy-blue-gloved hands in little side-to-side motions in the air. She started by pointing at my forehead and worked her way down to about groin level, which was not at all awkward. When she had done one sweep, she repeated this on my left side, then again in front, then again on the left side, which made my right side feel neglected. I tried to maintain an expression of polite interest which would probably be better than mocking laughter or outright disdain.
Once she had finished she asked me “Do your hands feel warm?”
They did, either from the Reiki, the self-consciousness of having my body parts waved to, or from holding my arms out in front of me for a few minutes in the cold.
She handed me a slip of paper advertising the next Reiki club meeting and now the bus decided to show up. I thanked her, because hey, why not, and hauled my newly-aligned energy home.
24.02.07
Transit People #5
Fur Coat Lady: Fur Coat Lady wears a black fur coat and usually lets everyone on the bus before she gets on. The then stands by the rear door as she exits the bus about three stops down.
Transit People #6
The Red Brigade: There are two people, a man and a woman, who both wear red coats. I think they’re co-workers, and they banter cheerfully as they ride in the benches on the left side. They get off before Cambie.
Transit People #7
Green Jacket Guy: Guess what colour his jacket is? He bugs me because he’s one of the people who will run out of the train station to get ahead of all the people who are walking in a calm and orderly manner to the bus. He then takes a forward-facing seat near the back and gets off at Cambie.
Transit People #8
“Mike”: I feel like I should know Mike. I see him both coming and going on bus and train and he gets off at the same stops as me. If he grew up in this neighbourhood then I probably went to school with him, although he’d be a few years younger. Mike wears a beige jacket, usually over jeans and white runners. He reads psychology textbooks while listening to his iPod, but he also goes to campus when there aren’t any classes on. He likes the back of the bus but doesn’t favour any particular seat. I think his name is Mike because that’s what’s written on the strap of his backpack.
Three days without internet access at home due to a problematic line; I was late replying to emails and was cut off from my online networks and resources. I know I can live without the internet, but I really don’t want to *clings to computer*.
15.02.07
Transit People #1
Bible Guy: Bible Guy listens to his iPod on the bus and reads the bible, a blue softcover edition. He gives up halfway, around Cambie or so, then sleeps until we reach the bus loop. He always sits in the back, preferring the sideways-facing seat on the left side toward the rear
Transit People #2
Smokes-a-lot Woman: Smokes-a-lot Woman smokes a lot, and likes pink. She once tried to finish a cigarette in the 30m or so of walking between the train and the bus stop, and she smells like an ashtray. She carries a bubblegum pink backpack and often complements it with a pink jacket. She likes the forward-facing seats one row up from the back.
Transit People #3
Snakeskin Bag Girl: Also favouring boots worn over tight jeans, Snakeskin Bag Girl’s defining feature is her oversized, pseudo-designer, absurdly ostentatious, white snakeskin handbag. She likes the sideways-facing seat on the left side in the rear of the bus, the one closest to the door. She gets off around Vine.
Transit People #4
Produce Box Guy: Having carried on a stack of banana boxes one day, then a bunch of flattened apple boxes the next, this man has forever branded himself Produce Box Guy. On the day of the bananas, he took a courtesy seat, placing the boxes on the extra floor space, then fell asleep leaning on the pile. Even without his cargo, he likes the front of the bus. He’s bald, but in cold weather dons a red and white toque. He also wears a too-large navy blue overcoat, which makes his head look too small for his body. The only day I haven’t seen him in the overcoat was on Halloween, when he wore a very nice, sweeping, gold velvet cloak.
14.02.07
When the rain saturates the soils, the worms emerge, and crawl over the driveway. Hard asphalt is hardly paradise, but they’ll live. Then one or two of them get the idea that there is more to life than the asphalt of their present circumstances, that there could be something better right now, that something more is owed to them. And so they crawl, they go uphill or in totally random directions until they hit the car port, and a taste of the dry life. They do not linger on the margin between wet and dry; they throw off the balance and go further and drier. This is their undoing: they are so blinded by desire that they cannot discern that they are too far in to go back. They crawl inward, ever drier, coated with dust, and many do not make it further. There are a few though, that find the crack under the door, and this must seem like their salvation, a place to burrow, a dark place with all its unspoken promises; a dream of moisture and eternal detritus. And this is where they die, having wasted every ounce of their living energy to seek out bare linoleum and dry, heated air; to seek out places ever worse than from the places whence they came.
And that’s all the commentary you get from me about this bloody day.
12.02.07
It would seem I have a routine. I now see the same people on the train, have the same driver on the bus, know where certain people sit on the bus and at which stop they get off, go to work, then repeat the whole commute in reverse. I’ve become boring and predictable. Perhaps I’ll shake things up and take a whole new route to work, or y’know, go get something pierced.
09.02.07
I'm getting that itch to move again. On the one hand I rather enjoy the amenities and the non-existent rent, on the other hand I feel like hurling a chair through the window while yelling "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!".
Anyway, more in the Chronicles. I've got the energy to transcribe, but don't ask me to create.
08.02.07
A snippet more in the Chronicles, I haven't abandoned it yet. Still busy.
03.02.07
I’ve been busy; revisions and development on a couple websites as well as some side projects. Regular work proceeds apace. We’ve had some small-scale, renovation-related demolition in an adjacent area and there’s a new exhibit going up as well; it’s noisy. There was also a social shift, as the area normally occupied by our packers was taken over. Our packers are all women, carefully stowing artifacts in archival tissue paper and fitting everything into acid-free boxes for the upcoming move. The construction crew was all men, wielding saws and crowbars and sledge hammers. The installation of the new exhibit is also being done by a few of our guys who emerged from the back workshop area brandishing power tools. For a while now, the quiet of the museum has been broken by the sounds of splintering wood, the whirr of drills, and the singing of menfolk rejoicing in this brief and happy time.
|
|
©d.tan  |
