My good camera continues to dangle from my neck on both the morning ride in and the evening ride back. I hear it muttering there, as it bounces against my coat: come on, put me to good use! We can do better!
I ignore its voice. I hate cameras that whine.
Ed, my occasional traveling companion, and I have come to an interesting crossroad: how do you eek out companionship when one person works 1.5 jobs and the other person doesn’t work at all? (Ed is retired.) In addition to my 1.5 jobs, I have set myself the goal of figuring this one out. The motto of an immigrant is this: surely there must be a way.
I don’t use the bike today. Fighting the cold in the morning and evening hours seems just too hard. I take the bus.
But I’m home – for the first time in many many days (or, more accurately – nights) I do not have to work after work. I am a different person tonight. I am normal.
Ed is at the cusp of round two of trials in New York. I am working to preserve my trust in the judicial system.
Evening. Quiet. Time to let go. Isn’t it ridiculous when people say that? As if you can let go.