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    TAGS: 500, commuting, consumerism, loneliness, miserable


She sat on the train to work listening to a terrible throw-back to the early 80s and, terrible though the Nolan Sisters were, she sat in a quite perky way, bopping her head and tapping her feet happily in time to the music, trying all the time not to notice just how much she was annoying the person next to her, when she realised that she seemed to be the only vaguely happy person on the train – she just did not understand it, I mean, sure, she was not always happy herself and, yes, it was an early ‘off to work we go’ sort of train and, yes, this didn’t exactly thrill her to her toes, but surely amongst this multitude of people there was one other person in existence that felt just a glimmer of happiness or good cheer, I mean, just look at them, with their mobile phones, their books, their Gameboys, their iPods, their well-fed and well-clothed bodies, their ‘better lives’, surely just this material wealth alone would lend them to sniggering or sneering in some sort of a “I’ve got more than you” way - exactly why was it that they seemed to be so utterly, entirely, exclusively, without exception, wretchedly miserable, was the end of the world nigh and she’d missed it in the news or was it more personal than that and maybe she was dying and everyone on the train knew that and no-one was willing to tell her, but that couldn’t be true, I mean how would they even know, it’s not like she had it tattooed on her forehead, or maybe that was it, maybe it was something physical, maybe there was something wrong with her, maybe that saying about bliss (how did that go, was it something like blissfully unaware or, no, that’s it “ignorance is bliss”), that was it, the only possible way that she could be sitting here as happy as a bear with his head stuck in a pot of honey, would be because she didn’t know what it was that was causing all this misery in everyone else, there was some ‘big thing’ that she was totally unaware of and that’s why, every morning, day after day, week after week, people sat around her looking almost suicidal; because they knew the ‘big thing’ and she didn’t, I mean, let’s face it they were probably all secretly laughing at her for being so naive and so unbelievably, pathetically cheerful, god they probably hated her, all of them, everyone on the train, sitting there, looking at her and thinking to themselves “hah, of course she’s happy, she doesn’t know, it’s easy to be happy when you don’t even know”; but the thing is, how would she find out and, more importantly, did she want to find out, I mean, if ignorance is bliss, why break it, why try fix something that doesn’t need breaking- no wonder they all hated her, god, she was miserable.

February 2, 2006 at 9:26 PM ::
e's avatar

brava!

e on 02/02/06 at 09:41 PM ::
boot's avatar

grazie

boot on 02/02/06 at 09:49 PM ::
Keith's avatar

Just think, two or three more of those and you’ve got yourself a short story.

Keith on 02/02/06 at 10:43 PM ::
boot's avatar

Hey, that’s true.  :)

Though, I think I might be tempted to put in some more full-stops if it were a short story.

boot on 02/02/06 at 11:18 PM ::

Y’know… it’s kinda late (well, ish) and I looked at this but my brain said… NO MORE READING FOR YOU TONIGHT.  And it did yell at me… I’m not just making that up.  Anyway, because I can’t read it I just need to say that were I a prim English teacher, old school, perhaps with my hair up in a bun - I’d write in the reddest ink I could find and in big clear writing, “Punctuation?”.  Obviously without the quote marks… and possibly encircled with more red ink.  And the question mark would really stand out… perhaps conveying annoyance at how you didn’t listen when I tried to teach you about punctuation… or else sarcasm.  The sarcasm would be purley because (as anyone could tell by looking at my hair in a bun) that I was repressed and mocking students might therefore be my only outlet in life.  A sad outlet, but an outlet nonetheless.

grudknows on 02/03/06 at 05:22 AM ::

when she ought to have been happy, indeed- thrilled to see such a sentence coming to life in front of her.

goliard on 02/03/06 at 06:49 AM ::
e's avatar

bah, Prim English Teacher, punctuation form is less rigid in literary endeavors, which this one certainly is, always providing the author knows her onions, which this one certainly does.  fie, go twiddle your bun and give us grud back!

e on 02/03/06 at 08:03 AM ::
'mouse's avatar

Beautiful.  Almost intimidated me into giving up on my own sentence, but then I spotted that sour-faced man on the train and he told me his story.

'mouse on 02/03/06 at 10:46 AM ::
Jo's avatar

Man oh man, this is also great. What goodness Scrine hath spawned!

Jo on 02/03/06 at 01:19 PM ::
boot's avatar

Heh, heh.  You know, I actually sniggered to myself when I told grud to go look at Scrine last night.  I knew she’d go all English Teacher on me.  Friends… you gotta love ‘em.

Thanks everyone else for compliments.  Much appreciated from this audience.  I woke up this morning thinking I’d not be happy with what I’d written, but I still like it, so that’s a very nice feeling.

boot on 02/03/06 at 04:45 PM ::
grudknows's avatar

Damn! I can’t believe you predicted that.  I didn’t even know.  I was just too tired to read it but felt such efforts should be commented upon so made up the prim English teacher for the cause.  I think I’m a little mortified that you thought that is what I’d do.  Sigh.  Grudknows walks with shoulders stooped in resignation away from scrine, self image in shreds - thinking that perhaps she should pull her hair up into a bun until it hurts as punishment as well as giving up ever reading anymore ee cummings as it doesn’t fit with the new world image.

grudknows on 02/04/06 at 01:41 AM ::
boot's avatar

Hey, it’s only because I know you set such high standards for me that I knew you’d be offended by my horrible (more so than usual) punctuation.

As you put it once: “I can’t believe that you [boot] are reading a book about grammar”

Hah!  Yeah, right.  Your self image is in shreds.  At least you aren’t a grammar nerd.

Actually, I like the prim English Teacher.  Can she come over and play Scrabble with me?

boot on 02/04/06 at 01:59 AM ::

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