The most logical thing in the world would be to write about my daily Metra experience. I mean, I'm on the damn thing around two hours a day....five days a week....riding from the bleak, impoverished North, to the priveliged southish-North. (I'm so melodramatic)
Sure, I've posted snippets, teasers, faithfully as my Facebook statuses. But as much as I would love to regale you with train-tales over crumpets and tea, there is just one problem when I sit down and start to write about this topic: I get a brain freeze.
Not writer's block but that kind of brain freeze that you get after taking the first looooooong slurp of a REALLY yummy ICEE. Or, the feeling that you get after you put a huge mound of sugary cotton candy in your mouth. That feeling of "holy crap, that was almost too much of a good thing!" (I get this feeling often...around men's cologne, when I eat Drew's Shitake Ginger Dressing, after eating cheesecake and Dove's milk chocolate, after slurping down a McD's chocolate shake....I obviously need to hold myself in check!)
That's my problem with my train stories. I want to dive right in and tell you everything. But where do I begin? What do I leave out? Do you care about the woman applying her deodorant across the aisle? About the middle-aged bald guys talking about Jude Law and his affair with Sienna and the nanny? About the difference in my sanity between taking the 7:37 train and the one that leaves at 7:52? About the woman screaming on the phone to her soon-to-be-ex, letting all of us know her pet name for him? (BTW, it was Mo#$er F@$#!r.)
I don't know where to begin. Visions of bad style-choices, too much cleavage, grown men swinging lunch boxes fill my brain, so today I'll start simple.
NO. There has been no Risky Business-type of action.
Let's get on that, train-riders of Lake County!
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