Mid Week Musings

Escalators

(Amen)

I never thought I had a fear of escalators. I take a little long to get on (that’s what she said), but that’s just good sense. You have to respect the motion. Last week, though, everything changed. I was going to lunch with some girls from work and we were laughing and talking and just generally being awesome and making everyone around us jealous of our good time. We proceeded to the escalator, I checked to make sure that I was getting on a fully formed step, and we began our descent. I was being hilarious (naturally) until I tried to shift my leg and realized that I couldn’t. I was stuck. STUCK in the stair of the escalator. I nonchalantly tried to pull my pant leg out of the area where it was stuck and, when it didn’t come free, panic set in. “Guys, I’m stuck. I’M STUCK!” “Stuck in what?” Let me mention that they were both laughing hysterically at my misfortune. “I DON’T KNOW. The stair?! Oh my GOD!” *begin frantic tugging on my pant in perhaps a more exaggerated manner than was necessary, but YOU try being stuck in the frigging escalator stair* At this point, I was envisioning my pants getting more and more stuck until they ripped or I had no choice but to remove them, and then I would end up in the middle of the concourse with no pants on and my train husband would probably walk by and he would laugh and I would just be there, just there with no pants on. And as much as I would like to be around him without any pants on, that is not the ideal situation for that to happen.

Subway

(Not exactly the type of dancing I had in mind, but I could see it happening. It's not like I haven't tried to do it before)

There is something about the subway that makes me want to break into song and dance (which I could probably do and receive no reaction whatsoever, as there are some weird ass people in Toronto that all the locals are totally used to). Every dance/romance movie in the world is based on an affluent classical dancer falling in love with a down and dirty street dancer from the wrong side of the tracks. At some point, these couples almost always are on the subway going to auditions, parties, or the poor one’s apartment that he (it’s almost always the dude) shares with his 10 siblings, abusive father, over worked mother, and their five cats because, for some reason, he feels it’s important for her to meet the family even though the shock (and, probably, the stench) is too much for the girl to bear and the guy feels ashamed even though it was totally his idea to go there and they break up until the end of the movie. Ahem. Sometimes there is even a dance scene ON the subway car. So, basically, I feel like I am in one of those movies and I am traveling not towards the train station, but towards an audition that no one knows about with a group that is totally not my usual scene but that I will of course rock and everyone will see what a beautiful dancer I am even though I am from the street or, conversely, that I can totally get down, yo, even though I am classically trained.

The End of the World

(If the end of the world is upon us, it better be representative of "The Day After Tomorrow". Complete with being trapped in a library with Hottie McHotterson, aka Jake Gyllenhaal)


I can’t not mention the "end of the world". Come on. On Friday I saw a guy walking around with his kid and holding a sign that said “Judgement Day is Tomorrow”. Yes, expose your son to your radical beliefs at an early age. That won’t scar him at all, nor will it severely affect his ability to make any friends. Hell, some guy spent his life savings on posters advertising "Doomsday." Hey buddy? If you're so sure the end is nigh, then maybe give that money to those of us that could use it for, like, shopping and stuff.

Honestly, I don’t know a whole lot about Judgement Day except for what Dean Blundell told me on the Edge, which is that Jesus is going to rise and take the believers and followers or whatever to Heaven and leave the rest of us on earth (think post-apocalyptic world like in The Road, which is terrifying because I neither want to be eaten by someone else, nor do I want to eat another human) until October when he destroys the whole world. Basically, the picture I have in my head is that Jesus or God or whatever is Ariel’s father in The Little Mermaid with his stick thing that like blows things up. Or something. I don’t know, I didn’t research it. I’m just beyond glad that I didn’t take the crazy ass preacher to heart and profess my love for every guy I think is attractive or eat my last meal of all my favourite foods (although let’s be honest, I do that every Friday night). Because after 6pm I would be stuck here on Earth with a man that doesn’t love me but who is overly aware that I love him (there would, of course, be a considerable amount of seduction involved during my confession, and it would not necessarily be pretty) and just hugely fat because I ate enough pasta, wine, and chocolate to last me an eternity. Literally.

Love,

Bella

Husbands, Lost Loves, and Crazy People

(My New Crush)

Train Husband

Last week, my curiosity as to where Mr. Bella works got the better of me. I decided to nonchalantly follow him through the subway to find out which line he took (what? I was going on the subway anyway). Turns out, he takes the same line I do, he just gets on closer to the end (which coincidentally is a much quicker way for me, too – learning something new AND standing in close proximity to my husband!). At this point, I felt somewhat like Phoebe when she is stalking the guy that used to stalk her because he thought she was her sister and she hides behind the garbage can…never mind. Anyway, when we got on the subway, I basically peered at him from the corner of my eye for about 10 minutes when…drum roll please…we got off at the same station! What are the chances?! (And no, I didn’t just jump off when he did – I did have a job to get to, thankyouverymuch). I tried to follow him all the way to my office but he walks too fast…as in he may or may not have been running, fearful of the clip-clip of my heels as they descended upon him…

Two days later, I offered to let him go ahead of me on the train, despite the fact that there was no one behind me and letting him go was fairly pointless and perhaps a little stupid. I also waved him on with my hand still in my pocket, so I may have resembled a penguin. He said thank you, like the gentleman he is, and I said you’re welcome. Well, I said it in my head. It came out as “mmcomeshmm.”

He loves me. He’s just unaware of it right now.

Something Borrowed

When telling M that I wanted to see this movie, his reply was that it looked stupid and it was just all about infidelity. I told him I love infidelity.

Okay, so that’s not entirely true. But I do love the sort of movies where the people that are CLEARLY meant to be together but aren’t eventually end up hooking up. It’s just so…I don’t know…satisfying? I think I loved this movie so much because I saw myself in the main character. She was kind of shy, kind of mousy, with brown hair and glasses. She had everything set up perfectly for her first class and then ended up dumping all of her pens on the floor. It was just so me (yes, I am aware of how conceited that sounds). So when she fell in love with the guy she met at school but was terrified to tell him and he ended up with someone else, I felt like I was watching every single moment that happened to me unfold on screen. I can’t count how many times I’ve liked a guy but couldn’t imagine telling him because really, why on earth would he want me? And I don’t say that for sympathy or pity. I honestly could not believe that he would want me when there are much prettier, smarter, and funnier (well, maybe not funnier) women out there. So I would play the friend, encouraging him to approach other girls and talking about other guys to him. And what ended up happening? Exactly what I “seemed” to want to happen – he ended up with someone else, and I wound up hurt and confused. But it wasn’t his fault. Not in the least. It was my fault for not telling him how I felt. Not to say that he would reciprocate the feelings, but at least I would know. Rejection may hurt for a while, but knowing he has someone else and always wondering what if? That hurts much, much more.

Uncensored Mental Patients

This is exactly how it sounds. I volunteer at a psych hospital on the weekends, and I get to hear a lot of, well, everything, from the patients. These people are some of the sweetest, funniest people I’ve met, even if they aren’t trying. Most of them are really confused; they’re very lost souls that just want to talk. So I provide that.

And they provide me with entertainment.

The other day we were talking about working out and how none of us are particularly happy with where we are in terms of health. Most of them think I am amazing, which is part of the reason I enjoy it there so much (kidding!). So when I said that I wasn’t happy with myself, one lady piped up and said, “Oh no, you look great! I mean, you could lose 20 pounds, but you look good…” Um…I…okay…

One of my patients even protects me in the other 6 worlds that are in this universe as he loves me “unconditionally”. He also speaks to me through his mind. I’ve yet to converse with him through such mediums. But, you know, maybe one day…

Perhaps one of the best conversations I’ve heard in a long time occurred between a young girl and a guy in his 20s:

Guy: What’s a surrogate?”
Girl: When you have a baby for someone else.
Guy: Oh. I thought you were a surrogate.
Girl: Well, I thought I was. [Thought?!] But I asked my boyfriend if my baby was mine or Natalie Portman’s, and he said mine.
Guy: Well, she’s got to be yours. She looks just like you.
[Yeah, because THAT’S the reason]

My GOD I love these people. Even if some of them are cops, mafia heads, or developing a super race.

Love,

Bella

Top 4 Socially Awkward Situations for this Socially Awkward 20-Something Year Old

(An idea totally stolen from Cracked.com)

Changing in the Locker Room
Where, for the LOVE of GOD, do you look when you are in a room filled with middle aged woman walking around with their boobs all out and then they try to talk to you and all you can think is “those are your boobs”? And what is the protocol when you are at the gym with a person you don’t know very well and you have to change in front of them? Like, I don’t want that person to see MY boobs. But YOU try changing in a tiny toilet cubicle when you can’t put your feet on the ground because…ew, and you’re kicking the cubicle walls and people have to ask you if you’re “okay in there”. And then you scream “YES I’M FINE” when really you just want to leave and never come back because you’ve been scarred for life and everyone knows you as the girl who has conniptions in the bathroom stall.

Doing Anything in the Bathroom
Why do people think it is okay for them to have a conversation with you while you’re peeing? We all know what is going on, don’t even try to pretend that you can’t hear the DISTINCT and UNIVERSAL sound that is peeing. It is not normal to have a conversation about the weather when one or both people are answering nature’s call. And what about when there is more happening than peeing (you know what I’m talking about, don’t make me say it)? Especially when you are in the bathroom with another socially awkward person and you’re both sitting there waiting for the other to FINISH UP ALREADY so that you can do your thing in peace. And then you realize that you are both waiting for the other person to finish because you both have to do that embarrassing thing that isn’t peeing and it becomes a sort of stand off between you two until someone gives up and leaves to go find another empty bathroom because they can’t stand the awkwardness of you both sitting on the toilet doing nothing. And during that time before one of you leaves, you CERTAINLY don’t want to let anything go because you actually recognize the shoes of the other person and realize that it’s your co-worker that totally gushed about your shoes and how amazing they are because you’re so stylish, so you KNOW she’ll know it’s you, too.

Riding on the Train
This isn’t much of a surprise, is it? But it’s still a really awkward situation when all you want to do is catch up on some sleep on the train because you get up at the God forsaken hour of 5:30am and you can’t control the way your body moves, what your face looks like, or how deeply you sleep (haha, it started to sound a little sexual there). Because more often than not, you WILL wake up with a jump and gasp and flail your arms about because your body knows you are sleeping in a foreign place and your subconscious is concerned about you not waking up in time for your stop. And you may even end up kicking your legs out to full extension, which then makes your entire body jerk and you narrowly miss the person in front of you and you can just TELL that everyone in your vicinity is desperately trying not to laugh because they are staring too hard at their hands for it to be normal. But then if you don’t wake up and some super nice person gently nudges you awake, you still wake up with a gasp and a shriek of “oh GOD” because you realize that the train is empty and it’s really embarrassing and then the nice person that woke you up is clearly wishing she hadn’t because she doesn’t know what the hell to do with your reaction. So you just try to stay awake as best you can by listening to music and reading, but you still end up with your head rolling all over the place and you know what, you just have to deal because those trains are amazing at lulling you to sleep.

Sweating When You Shouldn’t
I don’t know about anyone else, but I sweat a lot during any sort of physical activity. And I don’t mean a vigourous CrossFit workout or running to the candy store before it closes. No, I mean walking up the stairs or carrying some files to the file room. I just sweat all over the place and it’s really hard to hide. Especially when I can feel it dripping down my neck and I know that the person I’m talking to is trying not to notice but I can SEE their eyes following that tiny bead of sweat as it makes its way down, and when I try to discreetly wipe it away, they’re judging. I can tell. And I know they’re thinking “man, that girl sweats a lot! What’s her deal? Now it’s dripping down her forehead” and you’re still having a conversation but now you’re not thinking about what you’re saying, you’re just willing the sweat to STOP PLEASE, which makes you more nervous and makes you sweat even more. And because you stopped thinking about what you’re saying, you’re now talking about the embarrassing date you had with that guy the other night when the conversation should be about work because, after all, it’s with your BOSS. Or maybe the person you’re talking to is just a good friend or a guy you’re interested in and you’re sweating because, like, it’s hot, but it’s not noticeable because it’s thankfully stayed out of eyesight, but then this person tried to hug you since they love you or whatever. And you know they’re thinking “oh, that’s disgusting” but they can’t really say that and then YOU don’t know what to say so you both pretend that there was no sweat. But there was. And they will never forget it.

I feel awkward just writing this all down. I feel like I’ve given everyone a look into the dark recesses of my social awkwardness, and now things will never be the same again. But that’s ok. It’s alright. Because it needed to be said.

Love,

Bella

Some Random Thoughts...Musings, If You Will...

(This is my happy place that I venture to a lot in my mind. One day, I will go for real...)

Here are a few things that I can’t help but mention today. I don't know why.

Children
I'm not a huge fan of children. Gasp, shock. Whatever. There are a select few that I love, but they are the exception. This, however, is not the case for most women (aside from my Mom). It seems that the normal reaction for them is to coo and gush and talk like babies in those extremely high pitched voices that I only reserve for puppies and bottles of wine.

Reputations
I don’t know if people in general like me or just think I’m weird. I ger an awful lot of weird looks. And that's fine. I mean, I laugh at weird moments and tell jokes that don't often make sense to most people, but if they think I'm crazy and want to make fun of me, they can at least let me in on the joke. I like a good joke. I can handle it.

Looking Cool in Front of a Hot Guy
Whenever I try to share a joke with a hot guy, it never turns out how I want it to. I mean, I've been in situations where he'll say something, and my process will literally commence as follows: “Is he joking? Is that a joke? I can’t tell. If he’s joking, then I should joke back. But what if he isn’t joking? What if he’s serious and he’s actually disagreeing with my [utterly hilarious] thoughts about [insert mundane topic here]. That would be pretty stupid but it might happen. Oh wait, he’s smiling. He’s looking like he expects a witty comeback. It was a joke! Quick, say something cute! The "something cute" usually involved poking fun at him and then giggling. And he'll laugh. And then I start planning our wedding.

Acting like You Know All about a Sport to Impress a Hot Guy
It's common knowledge that most men like sports. And most Canadian men like hockey. As such, I decided to do a crash course on the teams in the playoffs (all I knew is that the Leafs didn’t make it) to find out who was first and what players played on which team. You know, just in case a hot guy wants to talk about hockey. Unfortunately, I recently asked a very attractive man what team he picked in the fantasy draft. I didn’t realize you picked players and MADE your team. (Which, now that I think about it, makes much more sense than my way of just picking an already established team. Because that wouldn’t be fantasy. That’s all reality, baby). So he asks if I mean which players are on his team, and I of course act as though that’s what I meant the entire time. I figured that if I just kept acting like I knew what I was talking about, maybe I would get myself invited to watch the games with him. At his house. In his bed.

The Arrogance of Blogs
See all of the sections above for a first hand account of what I mean.

I was thinking today about taking a blogging course that teaches one how to write a blog for fame and profit. And then I got thinking about how the conversation with the teacher would go, should he single me out for my beauty and ask what my undoubtedly witty and intellectually stimulating blog was about. What would I say? What could I say besides “it’s a blog about my non celebrity life that discusses issues such as my love for chocolate, my adventures on the train, the embarrassment I undergo whenever speaking to a male, and the pain I put my body through during CrossFit. It is, admittedly, a shockingly self absorbed space of redundant facts; a recollection on my normal, mundane life that I feel people should not only want to read, but which should deliver to me a copious amount of money and worldwide fame.” Because really? What else is a blog besides a place for even the most modest person to talk purely about themselves, their beliefs, and their values and then want people to be interested in it? A place to canvas for issues relating to the greater good of people? Yeah, sure…

Happy People
I met this one really nice lady at the hospital I volunteer at who is very sweet but who I think might turn into that creepy alien lady like in that movie when she asks the girl about her unborn child and then goes crazy. It’s called Legion (I didn’t know that, I had to ask CD – also, it’s not about aliens. That’s what happens when you don’t watch a movie but try to reference it). Anyway, this lady is very positive – almost oddly so, as though she’s living in a perpetual state of high-ness (granted, she IS a mental health patient, but still). According to her, every day is special because it has something unique to it, so she loves every day. I love this lady, but her positive outlook on life is seriously messing with my pessimist views. But she always calls me beautiful, so I can’t be annoyed by her too much.

Now, there is another volunteer who does not call me beautiful, so I can be annoyed by her all I want. She talks with such a high voice that I jump when she says things. No one is that happy, okay? Don’t pretend like you’re that excited to see me. I know you’re not. Mostly because I am not that nice to you.

Stupid People
A guy called me once asking to speak to someone that they had just tried to call. I asked if they had been connected to that person’s voicemail. He said no. So I asked if that person’s voicemail had told him to press zero and that’s how he got to me. He said yes.

Honestly?

For anyone that does read this blog, I hope you know how much I appreciate that you do.

Love,

Bella

That Search for Mr Right

Part of this blog is supposed to be about finding “Mr Right,” yet I’ve not written anything on the trials and tribulations about actually finding that one guy to make all the others look mediocre, the one that makes you feel like you’re the only woman on earth that is worth his time. (And I’ve recently had a lot of questions and “advice” on how to meet a nice man. I’m going to direct these people to this blog the next time that happens.)

Granted, most of what I write has something to do with men – after all, my life is one giant embarrassing moment when it comes to relations with members of the opposite sex. And, while it makes for some great fodder for this blog, it’s not spectacular for finding that special someone.

I’ve done the online dating thing, I’ve been set up with friends of friends, and I’ve gone to bars with the hopes of meeting my future husband. But what happens? I end up snorting with laughter, making jokes that he never understands, or revealing far too much about myself. (That's ABOUT, not OF. We won't go there...)

I’ve also tried to meet guys at the gym, but then I realize that I look like a giant beet gasping for air as I run (jog) at 4.5 mph with aching knees, which, of course, results in a hobbling run that largely resembles one of those creepy antagonists in horror movies that can’t run after their victims because they’re actually mutants that don’t have properly working limbs.

Ahem.

I spend most of my time in the weight room of the gym grunting and sweating my way through clean and jerks and squats. I’ve watched the guys in the gym watch me. Oh, there’s no shortage of being NOTICED by the men, they just notice me for all the wrong reasons. I don’t know if they’re intimidated or emasculated. Either way, it’s not the kind of impression I want to give to my future husband. Who do you think he’s going to go for? The woman he can sweep off her feet and carry off into the horizon, or the one that can, quite literally, sweep him off his feet, do a couple deadlifts, and then shotput him into that very same horizon?

And as for being around my older brothers’ friends that, of course, would fall in love with me at first sight? Yeah, that’s literally never been an issue (seriously, ask M – he would readily agree).

Most of the people that read this blog know me well and, therefore, know that they have to take my writing with a grain of salt and understand that there’s a lot of humour behind what I say (although most, according to M, feel very uncomfortable when I make fun of myself and to that I say…suck it. It’s a joke).

But really, when it comes to meeting The One, it’s not high on my list of priorities right now. My career is just getting started, I’m only just moving out on my own, and I’m focused on me right now. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t like to have an awesome boyfriend that could compliment where I am in my life, but I’m not desperate for one.

That being said, who doesn’t think about the time when they meet Him (your future husband, not God – that would be an entirely different post)? But I’ve yet to meet someone who gives a shit enough about me to take me as I am, warts and all (er, not that I have warts. Guys that might be reading this? I don't have warts, 'kay? Promise). I don’t want to have to compete for his affections, or wonder who else he’s “romancing.” I don’t want to have to worry about what I say to him or that he'll lose interest if I do something stupid. And I don’t want to be with a guy that I can’t wait to leave to go hang out with my friends. I want to already be with my best friend when I’m with him. But, even when I believe that I’ve found Him (again, a man, not God), something always happens that lets me know that, nope, not yet, have to keep looking!

The way I see it, though (which may not be entirely beneficial to me because, evidently, I am hardly lucky in the men department), is that I can be picky about what I want, because when I meet someone with whom I can be my complete self, I’ll want him to feel the same way with me.

Yes, the thought of being in an exclusive relationship makes me hyperventilate and gives me an unnerving need to run away. But when I meet a guy that understands that, is able to deal, and sticks with me despite my issues? That’s how I’ll know that I’ve met someone special.

I need chocolate.

Love,

Bella

CrossFit Sectionals 2011 - Workout #1

Anyone who knows me knows that I am an advocate of CrossFit. I slip it into about every conversation I have. I try to recruit people to CrossFit every day, even if I’ve just met them. I love it.

I also hate it.

With the arrival of spring comes the arrival of the CrossFit Games, which is separated into 3 parts (now, I’m explaining this with very little knowledge of the games, so it’s very probable that this information is incorrect): sectionals, regionals, and the Games.

Right now, sectionals are taking place. The Games website posts one workout a week for 6 weeks, and each registered athlete does the workout at an affiliate gym (CrossFit Oshawa, which is obviously the best ever). The first week workout was an AMRAP 10 minutes of 30 double unders and 15 ground to overheads at 55 pounds (75lbs for men).

I was not pleased. Double unders are not easy for me. I’d never done snatches in a workout, which is what everyone was going to do to get the weight as quickly overhead as possible.

I practised. A lot. I felt pretty good about it.

That’s a lie. I was ready to throw up. But at least I was able to do SOME double unders, plus I’m fairly strong, which would make the snatches super easy.

I was aiming to do between 3 and 4 rounds.

I did 2.

Plus 30 double unders and 10 snatches. So almost 3. But not 3.

M was my judge, obviously. That also meant that he couldn’t say anything to me or coach me in any way, so one of the owners of the gym took the place of my coach. If I stopped skipping, he would tell me to breathe and keep going. If I threw the weight down, he told me to pick it back up and get it overhead. You may not think that having someone yell at you would help, but it really does. I would have taken much longer rests had he not been there to keep me moving and motivated.

That’s what I love about CorssFit. No matter who you are, where you are in terms of athleticism, or where you want to be, there will ALWAYS be someone there to push you, motivate you, and encourage you.

Tonight, I’m doing the workout again. I was going to do clean and jerks, but snatches are so much faster (hahaha, I giggle every time I write that). I’ve got nothing to lose, except time. But really, I hope I don’t do even worse than I did the first time.

How embarrassing would that be?

UPDATE: I totally beat my time! Well, I at least got 3 rounds this time around. And that, for me, is good. And then I fell down. But still.

Love,

Bella

Working Girl

(I don't know what the movie "Working Girl" is about. I hope it isn't about a prostitute. That is not the image or message I am trying to convey...)

Today, I started my new job. It’s in Toronto. The Big City. I’m not a big city girl, so I’ve chosen to stay living in my small city and am commuting in every day. The most eventful part of my day thus far has been the trip in.

5:30am: Wake up after a very restless night’s sleep. Couldn’t fall asleep until midnight, and then had dreams about being late, missing trains, and puppies.

6:30am: Leave house in the rain. Awesome. Despise the rain. Drive to GO station. Don’t arrive until 6:50am because of traffic. Drive around parking lot looking for spot close to station. None to be found. Have to walk in the rain. Concerned for shoes. Forget where I parked the car.

7:00am: Get on train. It smells. Not happy. Eat breakfast that my mommy made me. Briefly consider if it is bad taste to eat on the train. Decide I don’t care because I’m starving and it’s delicious.

7:15am: More people get on train. Ew. Hate people.

7:30am: Train becomes express to Toronto. Try to read The Lincoln Lawyer. Train moving too much. Start to feel nauseous. Put book away and start to fall asleep. Desperately wish I could lie down. Briefly consider crawling into the fetal position and hugging the seat.

7:50am: Train pulls into Union Station. Try to go quickly down the stairs so to not disrupt commuters. Almost fall. Stupid heels.

8:00am: Jump onto subway. No idea if it’s the correct subway. Pray that it doesn’t take me to wherever else the subways go (I don’t know, I’m not from here).

8:03am: Almost fall when subway lurches forward. Extremely embarrassing.

8:10am: Arrive at my stop. Jump off subway. Start walking one way. Turn around and walk the other. Follow the herd of people that I assume know where they are going.

8:12am: Get lost in subway station. Cannot find the doors that lead outside. Nothing looks familiar after trial run.

8:14am: Locate doors to outside. Internally jump for joy. Maybe externally, too. Walk outside and have no idea where I am. Start walking. Eventually see my building. Another internal yet external jump for joy.

8:16am: Walk into building. Cannot locate a Tim Horton’s. Ask young security guard that is kind of hot. He tells me that it’s right across the street. Rather embarrassing.

8:20am: Get to my floor. Peer creepily through windows. No one is at reception desk. Notice that my name is above reception desk. Apparently I am supposed to be there.

Great start.

UPDATE: Since I forgot to post this last night, I have had more experiences on the train that I have felt necessary to detail.

First of all, an incredibly good looking man sat next to me. I, of course, think that he planned it and begin to fantasize about the Tiffany diamond (oh, I went to Tiffany’s today – I am sooo getting married if I get one of those babies) that he will give me after 2.5 years of dating, which all started because of our train romance.

In all actuality, he didn’t look at me once.

I also fell asleep, and at one point I know I had pursed lips. At another point, I’m sure my mouth was open (hm, maybe he DID look at me and then looked away forever…). I did, however, wake up. Suddenly. And with a gasp. I then proceeded to look at the three people around me in a daze.

Tonight, I missed my train and took the one 10 minutes later. It stopped about 3 cities away from mine. And then went out of service. Shit.

And it’s only Tuesday.

Love,

Bella