…and this is about how I feel at the end of the first week:
Gracie wants to know why I’m not getting her dinner.
The bus driver is a psycho, zooming through city streets and 25MPH zones at speeds well over the limit (I can’t see his speedometer, but I can guess by the way he passes so many cars and honks at the ones who pull out in front of the bus). I expect crashes every second, but so far everyone has escaped unscathed. I heard him laughing at one point, I think it must be game to him. Maybe he watched “Speed” one too many times. Take note, Trimet, you have some disturbed drivers. I’ve learned not to look out the windows in the front of the bus. I just try to get REALLY INTERESTED in all the shops we pass on the way so I don’t think about what’s going on in traffic.
So I survived the bus ride to the MAX, and got most of the way home before the area I was sitting in was swarmed by somewhere around 15 members of a gang. The one closest to me reeked of pot. I hoped it was only that, and they were just feeling mellow. And let me tell you, you never saw anyone so interested in the book they were reading as I was this afternoon. Some of their conversation consisted of reminiscing about going somewhere while tripping on mushrooms. All ended well for me, but I felt bad for the guy sitting across from me who was still on the train when I got off at my stop.
I made it home, and am working on my second martini.