c r i s i s

I found myself dealing with a minor crisis a few mornings ago. I've already mentioned my erratic sleeping patterns as of late; on this particular day, lack of rest caused me to sleep in later than normal. So, having overslept by five minutes (which is saying something, seeing as I habitually only leave myself a 20 minute window to shower, get dressed and run out the door in the morning...oops) I, stumbled briskly through my morning routine until finally I attempted to pull on a pair of tights (as per usual, uniform = dress, cardigan, tights!). I chose a grey pair which someone had given me and were the wrong size; the clock was ticking down as I struggled to pull these tight tights up my legs and they got all twisted and weird and I realized, panic stricken within two minutes of my necessary departure time that there was no way I could survive the day wearing them but no way that I could change them before leaving.

I stuffed another pair of tights in my purse and ran out the door; with every step I took they rolled a little bit further down my bum and wiggled down my legs...and let me tell you, there's no discomfort like being wedged into an overcrowded morning commuter train with sausage casings pinching you.

s t u c k

Holiday weekends mean making the drive home from Toronto to Kitchener-Waterloo. In theory, it's a relatively quick and easy commute; some people even make it daily, opting to live in one city and work in another. Unfortunately for Josh and I, this easy trip habitually takes us triple the time to complete.

Last night, we hopped in the car at 5:00 and rolled into our destination around 8:30; that's three and a half hours stuck in traffic, cooped up and going crazy from hunger pains and claustrophobia. When I was younger, I relished long car trips; when we made the three hour trip up north to my cousin's farm, or journeyed one hour west to my aunt's house in London I would fill the backseat with pillows and games and snacks. Now, I feel beyond restless.

On the plus side, we got to witness a breathtaking sunset and I took advantage of the photo-op. As we drove, I told Josh the old rhyme which had comforted me as a paranoid child with a foul-weather phobia: Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky at morning, sailor's warning. I remember looping that saying as I drank in the blood-red horizon from the passenger or back seat of my mother's car, assuring myself that the next day would be calm and bright.

(For the record, today is nothing but blue skies and sunshine!)

s u b t e r r a n i a n . w a y

When I think about how much time I spend underground, I feel a little weird; on a daily basis, I spend countless hours down in the darkness, speeding through dark tunnels and waiting idly with strangers on the edge of platforms in hollow spaces dug below earth and concrete. 

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One of my favourite books takes place primarily in the New York subway system: The Sword of Maiden's Tears by Rosemary Edghill. It's a dark tale of an elvish lord running around underground Manhattan searching for a missing magical sword and the cannibalistic monster which it spawned; it's mysterious and witty and romantic and makes me swoon. (I'm a sucker for fantasy, especially urban fantasy, and extra especially urban fantasy starring elves).

Often when I'm on the car, I look out into the passing darkness and think about things like the aforementioned people eater or Clive Barker's Midnight Meat Train (a movie about other tunnel murder monsters which I'm simultaneous morbidly fascinated by and too afraid to watch). 

c o m m u t e