A Frustration With A Peaceful Fnish
Sometimes I hate travelling by bus because doing so requires ultimate travel time calculations. And if you’ve never taken the route before, never walked it, travel time calculations are really hazy, so you have very little idea of when you’ll actually get to your destination.
Let me give an example: today I wanted to go to a friend’s wedding reception. I told her I’d be there because I was there when she was dating him, when they got engaged, and when she needed to gripe about all the stupid setbacks there are to planning a wedding.
I was still standing at the first bus stop when the reception ended; of course, part of this was circumstances I couldn’t have forseen: I was using a brand-new copy center and overseeing a girl who kept messing up on a project I paid her to do for me. I also didn’t know I could have left her to it to get to the reception earlier and then come back and picked them up, though I’m glad I watched her mess up or I would have walked away with the prototype she needed to fix her mistake.
But while standing at the bus stop, I told myself I could still go and see my friend’s efforts even if I don’t see her and her groom, and just as I told myself it was worthless and started to walk away, the bus came. I caught the first connection, but as I was standing at the second connection, I looked at the schedule: I’d have to wait forty minutes for the next bus, and that’d make me get there probably an hour and a half after the reception ended.
I was thinking of helping take down stuff in exchange for a ride home because there’s a dance (supposedly) afterwards, but an hour and a half afterward? Everyone would be jumping in the cars from a dark church as I showed up. So I jumped on the returning bus that got me to the second bus stop and went home.
While waiting for that bus, though, an angel named Zena (“you know, like at the end of the alphabet?”) sat and talked to me about life and it’s unfair moments. We just compared life experiences– she’s divorced her husband of 19 years who moved from New Nexico to South Dakota and then she’s stuck here with a few kids– and she sympathized with me. I can still smell her ciggy smoke on me, but she gave me what I wanted at that time on a busbench in the cold sitting next to her quiet, coy daughter.
sigh. Okay. I’m written out, and I found peace. See? It’s easy.
I’m going to enjoy food with my hubby now.