Hobo Dreams

My drive to work includes crossing a railroad track. There is a way around it so that you don't have to stop and wait. It involves backing up, doing a u-turn and going a couple of miles out of your way to get to where you would have wound up if you'd just waited a few minutes. And I've discovered that very few people are willing to wait.

I love it when a train crosses my path. It's like a mini-vacation in your car. You can talk on the phone, make some notes, count cars or just stare at the train and daydream.

I like doing the latter. Something about a train just takes me out of myself.

Yesterday was a very stressful day. There are things going on that I don't really feel I can post about - family dramas and angst that make me incredibly sad and angry all at the same time. But I am a bystander. It is not my story to tell at the moment, so I won't.

So yesterday, I was particularly susceptible to the hobo dream. Just getting out of my car, jumping on the train and waving goodbye to my life from the open door of a boxcar as it moves slowly down the track. Seeing the country from an open door like that has its appeal. Having no schedule, no responsibilities, no one to answer to. Some days that sounds like heaven - even if it means sleeping on a hard, moving floor with no bathroom in sight.

Then the lights stop flashing. The stopbar raises back to it's upright position. The back end of the final car eases out of sight around the bend. And I continue on my way to work.

Jennifer made me a lunchtime hobo though. She dragged me out of my office to a snazzy little buffet downtown (the words "chocolate mousse" convinced me that I NEEDED to go), where we drank tea, ate quinoa and cheesy meat stuff and talked. About family, about problems, about baclava fights and last minute kids. Stuffed to the gills and feeling much happier, we went back to work. It was a much better mini-vacation than hopping a train.