Dead in the Water

Shortly after I posted this morning, I was informed that my 5:15 AM train to New Haven was, in fact, "dead in the water."

Was remarkably Zen-like about this development. I reasoned that a mechanical failure on land and track - even if it was the dreaded Trenton station - was far better than say, mechanical failure on air, in sky (and fuck you, US Air, again, irrationally).

So, I packed up my belongings and made travel magic, canceling my trains to Hartford and opting instead to rent a car in New Haven, which would get me to my meeting exactly on time, if the 7:20 AM from Trenton was exactly on time (yeah: it wasn't).

I maintained my sunny outlook through-out the morning; I was goddamn chipper. Positive energy obviously exuded from me, as strangers commenced chatting me up incessantly. First, the Indian man who works at the popcorn stand:

"Ooooooooooooh! You smell incredible! Give me your boyfriend number! I call him!"

Wha?

Indian Popcorn Man spots ring on left finger. "Ah, he love you!"

Next, the tiny old woman knitting beside me on the platform bench.

"I was just looking at your shoes," she began cheerfully. "When I was much younger, I had an uncle who sent me those pointy shoes from Rome. No one had them here; but I couldn't wear them because all of my lady friends thought they were crazy!" Looks into distance, whimsically.

(This inspires me to tell the Tale of How HV and Fashion-Forward Friends Brought Capris to the States After Senior Trip to Rome. I tell that one a lot. But we totally rocked them first! Recognize.)

Where was I?

Ah, yes: Damien. I made a new friend today! He restructures companies for a living, and I deduced he was "The Bobs". (see: Office Space) He actually admitted he was Peter, and loathed his job but alas, had a young family to support and felt stuck.

I told him the secret (as am serene, Zen-Master) ; and assured him that as soon as he turned away from that negative self-talk, things would turn around for him. Hey - buck up, camper! (Who the hell do I think I am? But was in extraordinary, life-is-goddamn-beautiful mood.)

Damien very much appreciated my advice, and then told me he had a "prophecy" for me: I will marry J, move to the South, and have a brood of little boys with Southern drawls. (Me: Please - will they have blonde hair?!? Him: Yes. Yes they will.)

So, my day was weird and fruitful. On Acela bound for home. Must retire to the cafe bar now, where wine-drinking will commence.

Cheers.