When You Find Yourself: On A Bus, Hopefully Not…

 

Late, Late, Late Show

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Things have been so crazy and hectic, I should’ve gotten back by now.” — Drake, Karaoke

 

 

I used my 2 ½ hour bus ride home Saturday night (really Sunday morning) to think deeply about how miserably boring my life has become. The travel times to and from my apartment in the San Fernando Valley—both identical—provided the perfect bookend for the evening considering where I put myself mentally. All of this was endured, by the way, so that I could be in West Hollywood at midnight for the start of a 90 minute documentary about sex.

It’s funny the places and situations I find myself in when my minds starts to churn. This time I happened to be riding along with a few of my fellow Angelenos, more specifically, some of the City of Angel’s less fortunate who will forever remain dependent on late night (early morning) public transportation to return them safely to their one bedroom, and considering that I sat in on the late, late, late show, their cardboard boxes behind The 99¢ Store. (It’s merely an observation. Don’t blame me for life’s inequalities that almost always tend to be so blatant.)  It’s been a tough battle but I’ve come to grips with the way buses are scheduled in this town. I’m not going to complain about how if I were to take this eight mile trip “over the hill” into the rich man’s playground (The Sunset Strip) during the day, I could’ve easily saved myself two hours on travel time. Then again, maybe I just did…

And please cynics reading this don’t tell me to buy a car!

When I’m not thinking about the millions of dollars being siphoned away from the poor, working class here in Angel Town, I’m usually looking for ways to keep my mind dwelling on things that lean towards positive, things that are upbeat. And more often than not I usually find something positive on the faces of the people I’m in contact with the most—other poor people. Because through all the hypocrisy, the oppression, and the exploitation they still manage to gather enough energy to eek out one more smile, one more squint towards the heavens in hopes that a ray of light will be shown unto them that guides them to economic freedom. (No time soon, unfortunately.) Only the poor people on this bus ride home were a little more beat than usual. It being a weekend night and all probably meant they had to work extra hard during the day. I recall only seeing shut eyelids on all of their faces. Hell, they were even too tired to snore.

Poor me! I was left there, in my own thoughts, ready to start spewing out everything that’s wrong with the world and with the bourgeoisie, but got lost in a black hole in the back of mind. I was unable to water my evil garden.

I’m not sure the output is fitting of the return…

5 hours for 90 minutes! — Five hours ≠ 90 minutes…

But that kind of math doesn’t affect me anymore. It seems that lately I’ve grown quite comfortable with it—with this! These random trips to nowhere!

When the fuck did I get so boring?

Excuse me. How do I get out of boring?

I’d like for it to be more romantic, but I’m telling you, nothing happens. The movie was, eh! The Q&A was brief, if anything.

But all of this encompasses my life right now.

Boring — a boring bus ride home, made possible by a boring person.

I need to pick things up!

The only thing that saved me from my line of thought Saturday night (early Sunday morning) was that I had a few kernels lodged in gums. So before I rolled over for bed I had to get up and brush my teeth. It was the only way I was going to get some rest.

 

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