I’m back on the train.
I have joined the commuting classes – as if there were such a thing – and I’m quite glad about it.
Not especially about the ride, but it creates a small space in my day where no one can complain about me ‘playing’ with my phone. No one can be jealous or upset that they don’t have my full attention, no one can make me feel guilty for not unpacking/tidying/washing the floor/working/whatever. No one can try and convince me that writing is a waste of time or that no one wants to read what I want to write.
I am alone with my thoughts, despite the crush of other commuters. I can write, read or stare out of the window. I don’t have to defend myself against the practical world where ‘nothing’ is most definitely the wrong answer to “what are you doing?”
I can plan and plot and work things out. There’s no rush to finish in order to do something else. I can’t make the train arrive earlier by thinking faster.
I don’t object to being useful. I accept that floors need washing and that clothes don’t fold themselves. I get that. I just think it’s important to do non-urgent, creative, illogical things too. Things like reading, writing and painting. Things that make it worth having done all the other things.
I can’t paint on the train, but I can read, and I have my phone, so hopefully I can get the posts out of my head and onto screen paper :). FINALLY…
I’m still constricted by having to type on my phone, but the chances are a lot higher that I’ll get something written on the train using my phone than at home with the computer. I suppose ideally the house would be immaculate and I would have downtime there too. But that’s just not happening at the moment.