Yesterday was an interesting day, although one could not say it was out of the ordinary. It simply was a day that felt like many days smashed together in a pot, kind of like a really bad stew.
Briefly, my day involved the following: feeling like I was in a foreign country while riding CTA, not being able to pay for a TB test that I didn't really want to get, learning how to travel on CTA with a french horn in tow, getting a call at the last minute to teach a group of hormonal teenagers a "conditioning" class, having to create bad musical theater choreographer on a minute's notice, and forgetting to get off of CTA at the right stop and taking a half an hour longer on the CTA than necessary to FINALLY get back home.
The CTA appears often in the previous paragraph because, after doing a little bit of math, I discovered that I had spend a total of at least 4 hours on CTA buses or trains yesterday. That is literally 1/4 of my day.
Holy monkeys.
This leads me to the conclusion that I must find a more effective use of my time on public transit. Maybe, I can work on my tshirt necklaces. Or write poetry. Or a short novel. Or an album full of songs about people who ride public transportation. There is definitely plenty of inspiration...
For instance, there is a young woman who I have seen on two different occasions who intrigues me. She is very small, white, wears her hair in corn rows, has very baggy, thrift-store/found-in-a- garbage-can-looking clothing, and always looks exhausted. When she walks onto a bus or the train, she has a look of exhaustion on her face and a very heavy walk, making me imagine that she has gotten off of a long day of work that pays her very little. The thing that is most striking about her is the fact that she looks both 16 and 25 at the same time. I really cannot figure out how old she is. One second, her face looks so young that I can't believe that she can be over 16. But as she walks past me, I also picture the carriage of a woman in her late 20's, or 30's even, that look of experience and worn-ness. Like she has done this a million times and will keep doing this until she is 70 years old and can no longer climb the steps of the "el" train, and must use the elevator and a cane.
Her face truly haunts me. I can't stop looking at her on the bus, but at the same time I don't want to be a creep because eventually she will feel my stare on her back. I don't want to pity her, because pity never helped anyone. But I also do not want to feel cold, and I do not want her to stop haunting me, because then I will have lost my sense of feeling.
Most of all, I do not want to assume that she is unhappy. Maybe she is happy. Maybe she is not. I'll never know unless I get to know her, which is the hardest part about living in Chicago. The fear of getting to close to others, while being afraid that you will be alone in the vastness that Chicago is. And it is vast. I know. I spent 4 hours on its transit system yesterday...
After writing this, I feel like it not appropriate to put on my newest recipie. Another day.
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