This is long and probably pointless, but I'm all wound up.

I could say a lot of things, but on the other hand, I can't. I'm just going to talk about my trip home tonight. The title is, "My Trip Home Should Have Taken Forty Minutes, Tops," subtitled, "My Trip Home Took Two Hours and Thirty Minutes," sub-subtitled, "The Rain Is The Boss Of Us All."

While I was waiting on the platform I was feeling nonplussed, and unpleasantly so. The lights were buzzing, but maybe it should always be that way, maybe we should always have to hear the trouble in things that seem easy, so that we know it won't always be good, so that our expectations won't be so, so high. There's always a buzzing involved, and more likely than not, the buzzing is a problem. Or maybe I'm feeling a bit dramatic? Either way, the train came, and it was dark, though the airconditioning was on full blast, and the first half of my trip home went swimmingly, if a bit creepily. A cold, dark, quiet train full of cold, dark, quiet people.

Then it was announced that the train was terminating due to flooding in the tunnels, and could we get off of the train and take a different line please? So we did, and it was fine until the first stop, when everyone in the world decided to get on, and the train just sat there for a year while they all packed on. There was a crowd of rowdy boys shouting at one end of the car. "Get away from here, this train is full!" And it was, but people wouldn't stop trying. Then rain started pouring down from the ceiling of the station, pouring right into the open train doors until water began running down the floor of the car, and the rowdy boys started shouting, "The car's filling with water, we're all going to die!" This went on for a really long time, but eventually the doors closed and the train started, and all of the packed in people were slipping around on the wet floor, trying to hold on to something, but there's only so much pole space. Every time the train stopped the rowdy boys would shout, "Don't get on, this train's full!" scaring people away.

At some point there was a loud argument between the rowdy boys and a woman who said, "I know you touched me, I've been watching you. Be a man and admit it!" Somehow the rowdy boy she was directing it to became instantly reasonable and they had sort of a pleasant, loud discussion, but then something went wrong and they were shouting angrily at each other. Then another rowdy boy stepped in, saying to his rowdy friend, "Yo man, just drop it, drop it like it's hot," and everyone started laughing at how ridiculous what he said was, and somehow it was resolved. It was all pretty compelling, actually. So much so that at some point when the train stopped and I saw a familiar face smiling at me from the platform, I just smiled weakly back, and didn't think too much about it until just a little while ago. What was he doing there and where was he going? Even if he could have gotten on the train, it wouldn't have taken him anywhere near home, but then it turns out that no trains were taking anyone anywhere near home.

After the rowdy boys and the angry woman settled things it was announced that there was more flooding in the tunnels, and our train was going to run on a different line. Somehow we ended up at Queensborough Plaza, where the whole world got off of the train and onto an already crowded platform, no one knowing where they were going. The only option was a train that would take me nearly home, near enough, but there was a rumor that it wasn't coming. There are always plenty of rumors when train service falls apart. After waiting a good while with the platform getting more and more full, I realized that it would be at least two trains until I could get onto one, but there was a bus downstairs that would take me not home, but near enough. I'd never gotten off the train at that station before, but I'd seen it from the platform and it always looked to me like the end of the world. Like where you'd go if you wanted to be murdered, but not just a regular murder. A grisly one. That didn't really occur to me until I was halfway down the stairs, but it was alright because everyone in the world that hadn't been up on the platform was milling around down on the street, and there are hardly ever grisly murders on Queens Boulevard while half the world is milling around. There just isn't room. So, I got to the bus stop and there were enough people waiting to fill about three buses, and I started talking to this woman who estimated that the bus should be there soon because she had already been waiting for nearly an hour. It wasn't reassuring. There were MTA guys standing around, but they didn't know anything, they were just trying to get home themselves. It takes a lot to get me to take a cab, but at that point I would have, had there been one. The street was filled with people trying to get cabs, but they were all full and shooting right by.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this the beer I'd had earlier but hadn't seemed to mean anything decided to start meaning something. Suddenly I was slightly drunk on Queens Boulevard, getting slightly rained on, feeling slightly hopeless, and with too much time to think things over. I would like to return my ability to think things over to wherever it came from. Earlier today someone asked me how my summer was going, and I'd said it was crummy, and I kept wanting to take it back. It came out without any thought, I guess because it's true. It's not so much that I want to take it back as that I want it to not be true.

After a while of, "the bus isn't coming, no bus is ever coming," I noticed that the subway platform had cleared out some, so I went back up the street and back up the stairs, and after a few minutes got onto a train that sat there and sat there until everyone that could fit onto it got on, and then finally left the station. Slowly and creakily, but at least it was moving. Ever since I rode those rollercoasters, whenever I'm on a train that creaks that way, I half think that we're climbing straight into the air, and at any moment we'll go shooting down, and I wouldn't even mind. The conductor announced that it would be possible to transfer to all of the useful trains (we were on a useless train) at Jackson Heights, but the rumor on the train (always rumors) was that there were no other trains running. No trains, no busses, the rain is the boss of us all. After seeming a couple of times like it might give up the way the others had, the train got me to as close to home as it could, leaving me in the rain on a dark, deserted street, along with a couple of other dark, deserted people. I had a bit of a walk home, but as I came up to Broadway, rounding the corner on his bicycle was the clown! He was wearing a rainbow-colored dress and a giant turban that seemed to be covered in aluminum foil, so everything's alright, I suppose. I mean, isn't it?

That's the end of my story, but there's more!

I don't know, I've always been kind of an armslengther, but maybe I need longer arms. I feel nostalgic for something that never happened. I know it's the wrong word, but that sentence won't leave me alone. Sometimes I don't know who I am, and everyone else feels more imaginary than real. Sam doesn't feel too imaginary, and I think it would help to talk to him, but he's on his way to London, for some reason. I'd like to be stowed away in his luggage, so that I can climb out when he arrives. So that we could have secret London talks. He'd likely shake his head at me, and call me that stupid nickname he gave me, and tell me to quit being so head in the clouds. I'd say, "I'm not, I was, but I'm not." Then we could wander around for a year and fall asleep in the morning, and even if I didn't feel better, at least I'd be asleep.

Yikes, this is long. I feel ridiculous, but it could be worse. I just need to never go anywhere or talk to anyone ever again, at least for a couple of days.