The train

I don't know what to say about the blog.. It fell off I suppose. People do that. Lost in the days and events. Time enough to live it but not record it.

It's difficult enough to just put yourself out there. Intimidating and compelling. What must the world think, including me.

I would write in my diary and keep it to myself, if it were here, and didn't add another pound and a half to the already 8 kilos I have to carry around daily. Think max weight carry-on at the airport. Not convenient, but portable.

How to write without sounding self indulgent, self pitying, self righteous, self critical, self important... it can't be done by me. Self is third person Me, sometimes second depending on how far away I need to be, so I don't know how silly that is. First person criticizing third person.. Let's just say I have a chunk of time where this becomes possible again, when the stars are aligned with my disposition, I record, I observe from and on the inside.

My apologies.

Today I was standing at the track, in time for the train.

Relief.

The daily anxiety of being late or stranded subsides twice a day, usually. I live in København and work in Odense. They are 90 minutes apart. Yes, a good unit of sleep if you believe that 90 minute sleep cycles are best for your bod, and I do. It was my eagerness for employment, to have income, and there I place the blame for ignored obstacles hindsight presents to me now. Some days in the week are spent in Kbh, but not many. It changes as everything in the universe does.

As I was saying, standing at the track, the right one at the right time, even though the day has made successful attempts to provoke me, I am on time for the train today. I am even early with 4 minutes to spare. Exasperation and hate has me turned inwards. I don't like too much attention, to be stared at and speculated over so these things go into the toxic containment unit where it can fester and avoid unwanted attention.

I have several steps of de-contamination, the first step being the 15 minute brisk walk to the train station from the office in Odense. Step one-Status: FAILED

At the track, on time, still metering in the red so I make an ever-so-slightly external attempt. I see a group standing with a young dog. Not a puppy, this is not a cutsy-don't-I-feel-better spiel. I see an animal, which I am allergic to so I can't own one.. And like the desperate I am, I simply want to put myself in eye-line of this black lab and get some sort of acknowledgement, some recognition, some of that unconditional love that the owner is privileged everyday with.. I look to an animal to make me smile, to feel better, to take down my toxic level of malcontentment. I have a pounding headache, lacking the time to seek out and acquire a remedy, I think this will work.

The group is too big for the young dog to focus with so much going on on top of a large approaching German Shepard, escorted by a shabby looking thin man in a well used, poorly kept coat and hat; jeans too big. And I hear him ask if the two animals should try talking to each other. Respecting that the Black dog may not have permission to converse with the likes of him he holds back. You decide if it's the man or the dog I mean. The thin man's Shepard looked healthy. Not pampered, not bejeweled around the collar or led on a fancy nylon leash. A plain metal tag with a rope attached is really all any dog needs. It's the humans that need the rest and i find myself respecting the simple solution though it may be the only one available.

With approval from owners, both dogs sniff and warily accept each other after which the thin fellow inquires if anyone has pocket change, small change. He asks the crowd politely and I don't overhear or understand everything he says or what he refers to that is the problem.. but they give a bit. Panicked, I see him approach. This beggar caught by another though I had no verbal request, I knew I was related.

Of course he is trying and so do I. I check my pockets and come up with 7 and a half kroner. Almost nothing and I'm embarrassed to offer it to him. I'm apologising, not wanting to insult him by offering such pittance and he interjects with gracious acceptance. He bows and smiles at me saying something I wish I understood all of. Something about it didn't matter how small, it was the offer, that I was not against.. him or the situation maybe... He said a few things, explaining his point of grateful view for people like me who give what they have. He was what most people need to be slapped with once in a while, I think. I don't know how to explain my own gratitude that someone thought I was worthy of kindness, of a good thought, a good word.. even with that toxic waste surrounding me..

Whatever his name, whomever he was, he lifted my spirit and slapped me nicely with the reminder that people are not a lost cause. There are still beautiful ones out there to meet... I have to remember to shut down my memory more often. Constantly deceptive input.

The train doesn't go any further.

End Trans

k y r i o u s . o r g