Sitting across from Stuart on the tube. Central line from St. Paul’s toward Holborn. He takes out his camera and points it at me. I try to arrange my face so that my eyes are not closed and my chin is angled in such a way that I only have one.

Stuart examined the photo. “You’re very photogenic in the dark.”

I blinked.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you’re very photogenic in dim light.”

I blinked.

“That’s not what I meant! Don’t look at me like that. I meant on the tube and the light is bad but you look good in it. . .”

I blinked.

“Okay. I’ll shut up now.”

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What I really like about our new office is my commute.

I am willing to ignore the darkish corner we are in and that I am right in front of the door so I look like a receptionist and that I don’t have a file cabinet to collect the useless things that I always manage to collect. I am willing to ignore the unisex toilet that is not hip no matter what happened on Allie McBeal. (I barely let myself fart when there are women in there let alone men).

I can skip through the frenetic ant farm of people and cabs and buses around Victoria.

All this I can deal with happily, cheerfully, insert adverb here.

I don’t need to take the tube to work anymore. No longer will I squeeze in with my nose under some city boys armpit while some slag wearing patterned tights, a 1986 inspired ruffled skirt and flat-ironed hair insists on resting her paper on my head. No more!

I can now take the train. Not only do I get to take the train, but also my commute is cut in half. I will have to take the tube if the train breaks down or if leaves blow over the tracks. . . but until then, no morning commute from hell for me!

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The Northern Line was packed. It was warm. But I had a pole to hold onto and I wasn’t stuck under someone’s arm pit. . . then I wasn’t fine. Ears ringing, dark crept in the sides of my vision. I had an image of the entire Northern Line being shut down because of a passenger being ill and that passenger being me.

When a seat didn’t open up at Kennington, I asked a man near me if I could have his seat and he was very nice about it. After sitting for 30 seconds I felt fine and instead of being about to faint, I just felt rather embarrassed. At Waterloo I tried to give the seat back but he was very nice about it and said no.

I must remember however, if I am ever desperate for a seat, it would be a rather clever ploy.

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>sniffle<

Tried to buy cold medicine last night.

Everything was non-drowsy.

Bitch, I wanted the drowsy.

I decided to drink a beer and take an Excedrin PM® which contains the number one doctor-recommended ingredients for relief of pain accompanied by sleeplessness.

My mother smuggled them into the country for me.

>sniffle<

Thanks Mom.

The the number one doctor-recommended ingredients for relief of pain accompanied by sleeplessness made me sleepy.

I zonked out watching Howards End, which gave me really strange dreams. I don't remember them now. Umbrellas and books were attacking me.

>sniffle<

I wonder if Emma Thompson hates Helena Bonham Carter.

I wish I could meet Emma Thompson because she seems like the sort of person who would be a fun mate. Someone you could get drunk with.

Kate Winslet too.

Not to say that Helena isn't nice, I don't know - maybe she is.

(Probably not.)

>sniffle<

I need to read E.M. Forster.

Probably not after taking an Excedrin PM.

I should go home.

Is it raining? It rained a lot today.

Have you ever noticed when you get off the Bakerloo line at Waterloo, the station smells like vomit. Take a big wiff next time and let me know.

I also feel like I am playing frogger when I try to cross over to the Northern Line.

Ok.

I'm going home now.

Bye.

Talk to you later.

>sniffle<

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