On my way to Work

This is the second writing exercise I have done within a week. I should do them more often. More time than I would have liked has passed by between me and keeping up this writing exercise of a blog. I truly love this.
I have decided to post these exercises, even if nothing else seems like worth writing. They are fun, and when you put your thoughts down on paper, you hear your language, you see your thoughts, and they make you laugh...at least it does for me. And who doesn't enjoy laughing?

Here is number two. Typed this morning on my phone while walking from my apartment to the train for the daily commute. Since I couldn't really keep an eye on a clock, I just selected a 5ish minute-long song.
Tulips (Club remix version) it is.

Stepping outside to an exhilerating, face-stinging March morning; violent gusts whip my hair all 'round, yet scarf - neatly set in place - moves not, as it is tucked tightly and deliberately inside my sweater (so as to not get mouthfuls of scarf fluff from the wind), parka zipped all the way. Bloc Party melts into every crevasse of my skull, negating all other sounds (thank you Klipsch).
"...crying into the night, wearing my jaaacket/ wearing that smile..."
There she is, the lady with her three filthy pugs. It's as if she believes NYC will fine her if she does pick up her dogs' poop. My head tilts upwards to the dazzlingly clear sky...I probably shouldn't do that the whole way, since the wind rushing up my nose makes me gasp.
OK, I'm awake!!
"...this could be an opportuuuuunity..."
Well...a used neon red, ribbed condom. I wonder if glows in the dark. My reflecting on the false hope of an early spring is interrupted with thoughts of earthworms.
"...it's as pure as fire, it's as pure as snow/ I knew that I'd found you..."
Spring means summer is close. Summer is Mr. Softee. Summer means ocean beaches and possibly Brussels and/or Qatar. Summer means August...intrusive, oppressive. Humid. I can wait.
"This could be an opportuniiiity..."
Yes-hello-there-Mr.-Cop-sir-please-stop-staring-at-me-like-that look.
I love it when the little Walking Guy symbol pops up as soon as I reach the cross walk (not that the Red Hand ever really stops me). Oh nice...huge bus blocking my straight path to the subway entrance.
"If you promise to let it/ if you promise to let it grooow..."
The mass of people all listen to their mothers' advice and walk behind the bus. I pass infront and triumphantly beat the entire crowd. My card swipes through the turnstile without a troll, and I bound down the platform steps to be greeted by a Q Train with open doors? It's a good morning.
" 'Cause you're the one I looove"
Play on, Tulips...you're at my favorite part.
No seat? No sweat. Better view of the graffiti this way.
"ah ooooo oo oo ooo ooo..."

A Writing Exercise

A close family friend is a writer. He shared a writing exercise on the blog to which he contributes. Here is the exercise from his original post.

Very funny - as I was drafting my exercise, the Poster actually calls. Eerie IS eerie…I step out of the room shortly after. You see, he was in town for work, so we met up for drinks, dinner and much needed catch-up and guffawing. 

Here is my exercise I left in response to his post:

Ah – perfect timing to see this. I’m in a meeting where, frankly, I have no hope of grasping it’s topic: Economic Indicators and the Education Market with subtopics: how to reform our Consumer Confidence Index into something professors would incorporate into their curriculum.
At some point, I am supposed to update all on how our experiential program offerings could be used for MBA students. Until I hear my name, I shall continue doodling spider webs in the corner of my agenda copy.
I shall type my “notes” with my thumbs and nod when appropriate. Economic jargon is not getting easier to understand, as I once hoped. I will never have a numbers brain.

The perpetual din of the two type-A co-hosts talking over each other almost completely drowns out the whirring from the florescent lights and dull hum of the projector (presenting a cryptic Company Offerings vs. Academic Discipline Matrix). Never have I heard the words “matrix” and “leveraging” so much in my life.
I’m saving the piece of pomegranate candy in my sweater pocket for when I get bored. Hard candy in jacket pockets reminds me of a Mr. Bean episode.
Thomas is calling me.
“leveraging”. There’s that word again…candy time.

My favorite words: notion, solace, verdant, feral, juxtaposed, hysterical, sloppy.

I love words (enough to invent a language for my imaginary friend, Potty Girl, when I was four), yet often find myself unable to structure the proper arrangement to justify what I would like to say in selected situations. For example, if I was asked to describe the events of the past six days, I absolutely cannot properly convey how perfect it was. I am overwhelmed, and can find no words.

A favorite quote: "After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."
So, since I have no words, I will listen to a song or five that say what I would like to. I would share usually, but I will spare you from the sappy play list this time.

Gummy Bears for Dinner

It's about 10 past 5PM on a friday at the ol' office. After talking myself out of bikram yoga classes, I walk out of my building and up 51st to the 6 Train station, down to its over-crowded platform. The train arrives; it stops, but only after a skull-shattering, drawn-out, screeching halt. Bodies pour out of the cars in an anthropomorphic lava. As they clear away, those standing by (impatiently) funnel in. I'd rather eat sardines than make like one in life, so waiting for the next train seems best.

I get off two stops past my home station with the sole intention of buying some pre-made organic chicken for dinner from a near by co-op. I throw some yogurt and coconut water in my basket, too. And those organic - therefore, healthy - gummy bears; made with the real fruit juice and sweetened with date pulp and world peace. Never pass them up. Some silky sorbet? Meh...it has that crystal-y ice film all over it; not this time.
My walk home has that eerie, yet fanciful, serenity that only an autumn evening could bring.
I take one more deep breath in the brisk twilight and step into my apartment. Before the groceries go into the kitchen, they follow me to my room, where I proceed to disrobe of my corporate attire into more comfortable things. As the slacks my dry-cleaner just about ruined after only one cleaning drop to the floor,
"Damn, I forgot the chicken".