Sarae

1. Let my hair dry from the breeze in my car.
2. Eat a brat. Ate one already, but I will need a second sometime this weekend.
3. Edit photos.
4. Enjoy three days of back to back (to back?) lack of "have tos" and "should dos" and focus on the "want tos."

Hey, did you know - I have a blog? And I used to update it a lot - several times a week, sometimes even several times a day if I was bored. I know this because awhile back I stumbled across a downloaded copy of my old archives. And, christ, I posted a lot. Mainly weird observations, or random thoughts. Now if I have those, I just tweet* it. Which is fun to say, (tweet!) but kind of sad for my blog.

Now I'm imagining what it would be like if my blog had emotions. This is a little weird, moving on.

Hey, did you also know that I have a top-secret blog? Probably not, it's top secret. It's also kind of mean of me to tell you, since there's no link included. And even if you did manage to beat the link out of me, you couldn't see anything since it's password-protected. And half the time I can't even remember the password, so, you know. Anyways, it's just letters I wrote once upon a time, on those nights when it's late and I'm tossing and turning in bed because there's THINGS running through my mind. (I think average post time is 4 am.) I am aware that a journal would also be good for these occasions, and I have tried it, but sometimes a girl just likes to type in her beloved Georgia font.

Anyways, I was musing on way too many things all night, with my head all foggy and stuck in multiple years, so I decided to go check out the ol' secret blog. Its most recent entry was June 2006, and was a letter to myself. It's kind of strange to see words you've written, intensely personal words and phrases, spaced out so nicely upon a screen. It's a little vexing when you can no longer remember some of the personal code.  

But it definitely sucks to realize that you were a better writer in the past. So. Blog-ahoy?


*Once I made the mistake of calling them "twits." I know that's not what other people call them, but it was fun to say. I got a lot of responses correcting me, so now I am careful to use the twitter-acceptable noun/verb only. Also, I appreciate a word that can be both a noun and a verb. That's why I like Wade. (Among other reasons, I guess. Heh.)

I love trains. Love the sound they make as they trundle down their tracks, love the long wistful whistle that pierces silent winter nights, and I love the way tracks criss-cross each other across town.



This love kept me sane in my old apartment, the one where the tracks passed not far from my bedroom window. It was spring when I first moved in, so I slept with the window open to enjoy the breeze (and to be able to use my down comforter as long as possible.) The first few nights I was roused at 4am by the rushing of a train. I have vague half-memories of sighing and mumbling about trains, before nodding back off. But after those first few nights, the train never woke me again. (This may have more to do with my freakish ability to stay asleep than my love of trains.)



I'm rarely irritated when I get stuck in traffic waiting for a train to pass. I was saddened when Madison passed a train whistle ban, and elated that it seems to have been lifted. I say seems to be, because though I never read about it being lifted, at my new apartment (also with a set of tracks only a few blocks away) I intermittently hear the whistle of a passing train. It doesn't wake me or startle me, it only makes me smile.



Despite all this, I've only ever ridden on a train once. My lone trip was heading from Kharkov to Kiev on an overnight sleeper train in a car full of Ukrainians, Colette, and myself. I have no photos of that portion of the trip, and I don't think anyone knows how much that really pains me. I think this love of trains is the driving force behind my fascination with subway/light rail systems - Chicago, New York, St. Louis, Paris, London - love them all.

Last week I studiously avoided opening the cruel email forward - the subject line was more than clarifying enough to keep me well at bay. Somehow I managed to be blissfully unaware of the horrifying news that was behind that forward.

And then I decided to watch an episode of The Daily Show from last week. And saw the horrifying, horrifying, horrifying video about GIANT SNAKES ON THE LOOSE IN FLORIDA. And some googling-whilst-squinting led me to the realization that I will never, ever, ever, never, ever go to Florida again. Ever.