What happens on the bus

Monday through Friday, I take a bus in to Providence and home again. There are about thirty "regulars" who take the bus with me, and over the past year, I have gradually come to know some of them. There is mostly only polite conversation. I mostly read. But here and there, there are some brilliant little mica-shiny moments when everyone just seems to click.

They are killing some of the buses. This has caused an artificial sense of community; petitions were formed and signed, meetings were attended, new friendships were made in the common cause of keeping our bus line. I had nothing to do wtih this but watched like a wallflower from behind my book as heated conversation was exchanged over the fate of our bus. I thought it was cool that people were talking. You just don't get that in a car commute. I did, along with my daughter, sign a petition, but felt only on the edge of something that was really happening.

I think life has been like that for me lately. I have been only peripherally toe-dipping. I am heavily distracted by television and books and just not getting out there. Part of this has to do with my relationship with Tom. He is so happy to be in a quiet place, reading, and I am so anxious to be with and spend time with him that often it is time spent doing nothing, really. I really value my time with him. Nothing compares. I feel like I am not missing much of "out there." There is, of course, a side of me that feels guilty for blowing off friends and being anti-social. I would like, for example, to think of myself as a giving person, and would like to volunteer and feel good about myself for doing it, but often don't pursue opportunities because of laziness and because I know Tom wouldn't do it. Although he did go out and protest the war with me once on a streetcorner with Moveon.org, so, maybe I should just make him go outside once in awhile.

He said, last night, "I always have something I have to do. I wish I didn't always have something to do."

I can't do this for him, but I can model it, I suppose.

My smart daughter allocates her time to her art and her passions in such an indulgent way that I envy her.

On the bus, I read these thick books to pass the time. Passing the time as opposed to wasting the time. But perhaps taking the time, using the time, for either connecting with other people or writing, would be a good thing.

I want to sit here and write down all of these character descriptions of the folks on the bus. But I'm too lazy. Maybe more will come to me the more I keep this blog.