Things I think on the bus

train!I’m not used to public transportation. I’m not used to having literally several hours a day where my mind doesn’t have to worry about navigating highways, handling social encounters or just about anything else. My mind has never experienced the freedom that comes with sitting on a bus. It has thusly spread its wings (and yes, I’m pretty sure I just made up the word “thusly”), it has expanded, it is now – you might say – a free-range animal. Based on feedback that has trickled in from my more critical acquaintances (read: my sisters), I apparently think odd things. So I have been keeping a loose record of things that cross my mind when I’m en-route. If you think even half of these are legitimate questions, support me and wandering-minds around the world.
“How long would it take a giant snail to cross Prague?”
“If I look lïke I know what I’m doing, maybe people won’t judge me.”
“If I look really pathetic and lost, maybe people won’t judge me.”
“If I look like I don’t care, maybe people won’t judge me.”
“How far can I go on this bus before I have to admit I don’t know where I am?”
“What’s the difference between ‘pillage’ and ‘plunder’?”
“How hard would it be to get a dead body on and off this bus without people noticing?”
“Is there a ‘D’ in ‘coagulate’?”
“Why does my ear hurt?”
“Meryl Streep’s doppleganger looks a lot meaner than Colin Farrel’s.”
“Why don’t guys obsess over shoes as much as girls do?”
“Are peas a vegetable?”
“Has the ink in this pen always been blue?”
“Am I the only one who smells corned beef and cabbage right now? Is that not making anyone else hungry?”
“Is there a right way to stand next to someone who’s sitting?”
“How many rabbits live in Prague?”
“Where do buses refuel?”
“Do all bus drivers start out mean or do they get that way over time?”
“That girls shoes look super cute – I wonder if they hurt more than mine do…”
“How high is a stack of one hundred pancakes?”

Give a girl a chalkboard…

My work shoes, covered in chalk and ready to call it quits for the day.

My work shoes, covered in chalk and ready to call it quits for the day.

I distinctly remember the first profound thought I had as a kid – that is to say, the first big thought, beyond “I like fish sticks,” “This girl is weird,” and “Why does Deborah get shoes with Dalmatians and I don’t?” I was sitting in my kindergarten class, cringing as the teacher scribbled on the chalkboard. Every week I told myself the scratching chalk wouldn’t bother me anymore, but every week it did. As I sat crisscross-applesauce on the dusty floor with my little fingers awkwardly plugging my ears I thought to myself, “This will bother me the rest of my life…That could be a problem.”

It is a problem.

Never did I assume I would become a school teacher, though it is one of the jobs I have romanticized about over the years. And all the things I thought I would love about teaching, I do. I love kids saying ‘hello’ to me in the hallway (I LOVE my students). I love pulling little people out of their comfort zones and showing them how much they can accomplish. I love pinning things on my noticeboard in my office (which I also love).

But the chalkboard…

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