Today I am thankful for the realization that public transit forces me to socialize.
The worst thing about living one's life in the havoc of challenge and despair is that one becomes self-absorbed. The focus is on solving one's own problems. There is little energy or time for other people.
Taking the bus for 2.5 hours per day is teaching me that maybe I'm taking on too much.
I can't figure out how to fix the mess I'm in. I think my ex lost his job (could be wrong...but I don't think so). I can't figure out how to solve the financial issue yet.
The answers will come. I'm just not so sure two jobs and school are wise.
There is another issue with public transit.
It reminds me of my first love. In fact, ten years ago, he confided that he also had issues with riding the bus because it reminds him too much of me.
It's probably the smell of engine lubricant, dirt and vomit that stir up the memories.
I'm so sorry....so, so sorry.
I've been riding the bus for nearly a month.
There are truly a lot of lonely people out there longing for a connection.
We get to know people that we see every day.
That guy that walks his Siberian husky at 5:00 am.
The old guy on the corner who likes to gossip (haven't seen him in two weeks, so I'm getting worried).
The homeless guy who rides the bus on Saturday morning with his backpack.
The bus driver who lets you sit on his bus during his breaks while he reads sci-fi. He calls me "special one." I'm sure that's because I'm a little silly. I can't figure out the bus routes so I often wind up looking confused. He laughs about how I saunter up towards the bus, even if he's running late because he's waiting for me.
I've learned to speed up my pace.
There is a really adorable man who would always say hello after being dropped off at the bus station around 6:05 every weekday.
We would always exchange our hellos.
They've morphed somehow to....
my saying "have a great day!"
and him saying "you too, beautiful."
I'm old. I don't hear it very often.
*****
I try to avoid men because I don't feel good about myself.
I feel old....
and saggy and baggy.
I know I'm a good person.
I'm just not.....pretty or hot.
The very thought of dating is bizarre.
I can flirt but that's about the end of it.
Something must happen when one is celibate for a long time - sex and romance becomes a foreign concept.
It is that for me.
*****
I have a favorite guitarist.
He's not famous.
He's local.
We went to high school together.
Years ago, when things became scary in my life his wife offered to teach me to sing.
I adored the pair of them.
I'd go to their gigs to cheer them on until the stalking started to get so bad it terrified me.
Today he reached out to me because they just divorced.
He is very hurt. I can feel it.
I don't know what to say....
or what to do....
except listen.
It's heartbreaking.
I'm sad and finding myself wondering what the point of love is if people wind up feeling so hurt at the end.
A young man at work is studying psychology and he asked me to come up with a list of rules for love. I can't remember what I wrote.
They were along the lines of
1.) Accept your partner as is....you can't change him
2.) Take care of you.....(s)he can't read your mind....it's cruel to expect someone else to parent you
3.) Open and honest communication - always - no secrets, ever!
4.) Always take time to be present for your partner....try to do positive, fun, exciting things with your partner so (s)he pairs positive experiences with your presence.....always be there in times of crisis, too so the person doesn't feel abandoned.
There was another....I don't remember what it was.....
Maybe all of that is crap -
Perhaps romantic love doesn't exist.
It could possibly be that it doesn't exist for me.
Maybe some of us are meant more for a more platonic type love.
It is more to ponder.
******
So that is the thought that I'm ending the day with as I try to get a couple of hours of sleep. I have to be at work in six hours.
My commute if 1 hour and fifteen minutes long.
Someday things will change.
I hope so.
I hope so.
May your life be happy and loving,
S.