I've been craving cinnamon-sugar toast lately. I always think that's a sign that my grandmother is hovering. But then I'm embarrassed by the notion, like it's too romantic. Maybe I just crave that sort of comfort now and again. And who doesn't crave cinnamon-sugar on a regular basis? That's probably it.
I've received a few concerned notes from my out-of-town friends about the Metrolink train crash here, which is now the most tragic incident in Metrolink history; fifteen deaths and counting. Thank you so much for the concern, but I wasn't anywhere near it. That train goes in the opposite direction as my train, but still, the disaster has me a bit freaked out. It should be such a secure mode of transportation -- it's on a fixed track! -- and I don't understand why they wouldn't know well in advance when a freight train is coming at them head on. The investigation continues, but there's speculation that either the red light warning of an on-coming train wasn't noticed or it malfunctioned. There's no back up? Either way, it seems such a gross, needless oversight. Sometimes when I'm on the train, I think the driver is going too fast, like I know anything about train driving. But I can feel when it's going faster than normal and there are rougher parts of the track, between Fullerton and Union Station, that when rolled over causes the train to shake more violently than seems normal. I write the feeling off to Another Anxious Traveling Moment. I guess that's it; all forms of transportation worry me; car, plane, train; not so much the bike though that's complete denial, isn't it? Please tell me I'm not turning into that lady: The Scared of Traveling Lady.
I started my writing workshop. It's been going for two weeks, and I show up early and leave late. I ride the line of over-anxiousness. During my bike commute home afterwards, I don't ever remember pedaling. I float it home. I've turned in two stories so far. One received good reviews, the other so/so reviews. The So/So story has been a pain in my ass for over a year. I can't seem to get it to a place where it would be more moving. My teacher, who is amazing and thoughtful, X'ed out pages of the story. Pages! And I know as a writer you're not supposed to fall too in love with your own concepts and phrases when they need editing, but I don't always know how to move a story along passionately otherwise. I cut about 300 words from the story because of his suggestions, but I left the pages pretty much intact due to the fact that I'm in love with certain concepts and phrases. Kill me. I think I just need to move on. File the story away in the Nice Try folder.
But I wasn't discouraged. Which is a fresh concept for me after criticism. Fuck it; keep going. So I'm not instantly brilliant no matter how much I've fantasize that I am. Back to work because hard work has always been my most reliable characteristic. Day dreaming, not so much no matter how endearing.
This Week In Livable Streets
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