my mOrning (and mistypes)

Oh, that's fun, 9-11-9...decadence in the date.

So... the toaster and kettle stopped/popped at the same time this morning-mourning. Wholemeal/sage-clearly a sign of the possibility of a good day. Problematically, and typically, 23 minutes late out the door. The sound and sight of reds passing below raced my pump..go go go.

The day after Sunday, it was today, a low fog blanketed the earth and found a spot to lay between every tree, every blade. Every tiny gap between every misshaped brick. Beside every wall. Between my knees and ankles. Perhaps even between the non existent miniscule gap between my thighs. At first I thought, how nice...fog like cotton candy..and eerie. A somewhat beautiful haze. Pleased I couldn't taste it, I realized. At 27(ish) minutes and waiting, could the fog hinder my journey? Does this belong at my carnival?

Feet barely bendable, I already suffered and wondered.. barely protected. With shins like frozen celery sticks as a result of my morning laziness. A false security guided by the warmth of my bedroom...Roadside readiness.

First bus. Small and full. Perfect for a movie. A hush filled the air, sliced by the ferocious high pitched beeeeeep. Endless and anxiety inducing, palm sweat gathered, luckily soaked by the half black paws I wore. My head spun. Elementary aged didn't mind. Happily she stood with tails of pig, smiling with her nylon royal blue bag. Clenched. School. School. School. School.. whEEEEE....clinging to the pole of germ. Lucky for her, she was probably lower than the majority of filth. I obsessively put on anti-bac just incase.

A bit of everything and everyone aboard. Crowded. Lucky to get half a seat, I sat beside a large rough man who just didn't care about his overflow. Cemented boots and square. Unbewildered by his lack of attempting nOt to sit on a bus as he would his sofa at home, I passed a judgment of selfishness amongst other unmentionables upon him. I bet he wished I passed the popcorn.

The interesting a.m bus stop girl was on the bus again. Casually dressed with style. Pin striped, cropped jeans made her even thinner. Arriving to wait after I, enjoying the end of her fag. Dyed blond. Short, round, hard and wet looking helmet...it suited her. I looked curious,(and pheening). Where does she head this early in the morning? Unusually. Breaking the stereotype of early commuters..hmmmm.

From bus to train, through the short cut, which, for the record, I dOnt's actually think is any shorter- I waddled. I was reminded of why the pencil skirt (I have to say here that pencil was just mistyped as penis--yes, a penis skirt)had hung in my closet for so long. Like having a sequence of rubber bands from knees to waist, my stride was short but quick. How funny I must have looked. Maybe I am the penguin? -Another poor wardrobe choice. Pencil/penis skirt and missing leg warmers. Shoulders hunched, I had to delicately avoid the expected urban puke piles and mucus speckled pavement. This morning, an obstacle course in restraints.

At least I had the sage tea, which I desperately hoped would cool down sometime between then and the time the propellers landed me within the curriculum care-a-lot business.

My "wings" felt as if they were naked. Tank. L/S shirt. Nylon/polyester. Corduroy.Poor clothing choice number three. Oh, damn that backside scoop neck.- If I could fly, I would have lost the ability. If I could fly, I wouldn't bother with the tube or the bus, now that I think of it... Anyhow, I was covered along my spine and dorsal with freezer burn-like on that bag of frozen spinach ravioli yesterday. Speaking of, I realize, it's the ravioli's fault this pencil skirt was giving me more trouble today.. or was it the pizza's? I wouldn't have minded a hot pizza strapped to my upper back at that moment. I pondered,(and now salivate). I was desperately chilled like winter metal. I once stuck my tongue on winter metal, not recommended.

Refocusing, fortunately, the green line east arrived quickly. I got my usual seat and sat tensely time ticking and spINKing in a pretense, falsely past tense. No excitement to my notice. I recollected and began to thaw and regain partial feeling. Only to be repeatedly reminded of chill, with every stop along the way. Shocked and timidly turned to ice. Streetfighter II. Sega. Genesis.-It was warm then, and I didn't know about the true essence of the day after Sunday.

A girl sat. A fresh graduate with ankles of flesh in flats on display. Playing songs for tiny mice.. actually, she slept-sat. I bet dreaming of a warm place, a pair of wooley socks (ugh-just mistyped the first s with a c--what the heck?!), Estimated 19, Fairy Island fab and tired eyes like mine. I heard the chirps of her buds in her ear.-fast forward-talk-and walk...

Tube. Exit. Stairs? 26. Right and trot. Straight all the way.

More fog and hogs of pavement passers with pressures and thunder heels..EvEryone with the right of way.-Shoulders brushed-sideways walking. Human pinball? Street agility test? Not in a pencil skirt, thanks anyway. Even frustration didn't offer me heat.

First adults, then seagull students. Ugh-what a heinous bird I thought. A scavenger... scavengers at no fault of their own. Perhaps better than a marauder though? Eager for a Monday, yet complaining at the same time they jammed their throats with sugar abundance and formed a line of red rover. I was forced to black top shuffle it past the chatty bats..

Almost. Almost. Almost. Speared with an ice pick, my insides rattled. The single yellow flower within the concrete garden stole my double take. Almost. Almost. I had lost my nose along the way, no time for concern. Meeting in 3.

Through two sets of two doors under a half-circle protrusion I was released from the maze... a long deep breath and cold eyes, I sighed..

and my tea was cold.