Thought Train

It's five to six and I lithely leap onto the train with seven minutes to spare. The carriage is otherwise bare, save a lean, long-haired twentysomething male, socks pulled up, hunched over a bunch of paper containing incomprehensible scribbles of various symbols and graphs. A physics postgrad, I guess, probably bound for the same town as I.

I dump my bags on a warm, sun-heated seat and slump down next to them with a sigh. I allow my gaze to wander to the opposite platform. It's fairly busy and full of the usual suspects; I scan the crowds, looking for something worth watching. Observing people is one of my preferred ways to pass time whilst waiting. Nothing much new to see, generally, although this time, someone in particular catches my eye. A guy.

Do I know him...? The blood rushes to my cheeks as I realise that yes, yes, I do indeed recognise that face. I marvel at the coincidence: that I should be here; that he should be there! Except it's not really that much of a small world and if I'm honest, the idea of a fleeting glance such as this occurring crosses my mind every time I pass through this place.

And now that it has, what do I do?

It's 17.58 and with only four minutes before the train leaves, I don't have much time to think twice. I stand up in haste, gather my bags and I'm out of the doors. Ponytailed Physicist doesn't even flinch.

As I hurry up the stairs to the other platform, I have a million questions rushing through my head, most of which are entirely unhelpful and unrelated to the present situation but a scarce few could be useful, if only I had some answers to follow them. What do I do once I get there? What do I say? How would I even begin? I don't know, I'm not sure and sometimes the only way to get things done is to stop thinking and just do. Before I know it, I'm on the platform and there's a train there and it's ready to leave. My eyes dart erratically across the length of the vehicle and I spy the back of a head that looks almost like someone I nearly knew once. He's looking out  towards the opposite platform, where there's a train setting off, to a parallel carriage that holds a single passenger - a long-haired student, hunched over a paper, highlighter in hand. I am not there; he does not see me, and somewhere nearby, a whistle is blown. 

The train departs and I make my way back up the stairs and across to my platform. The 18.02 left On Time and it's now a forty-seven minute wait for the next one. The area is completely bare, save a curly-haired girl, laden with luggage. I dump my bags on the cool concrete and crouch down next to them on the ground. I rest my chin on my knees and I wonder...what would I have said?

Flitterbox: Bright Eyes ~ Another Travelin' Song
Flitterbook: The Year I Met You ~ Cecelia Ahern

Little Writer

Today, I have written.

"Writing while young will help improve memory. The process helps you remember feelings and experiences you have forgotten and makes you more expressive. Writing will force you to come up with the right words to describe thoughts and emotions and as a result, you become more proficient in expressing yourself."

I suppose this summarises why I like to write. It's not really for readers, but without the mere idea (even if misguided) that someone is listening, there's not much point in attempting to express yourself in a way that captures the attention of another person. Mainly, I just want to remember the good stuff. There are a lot of fun moments in my life at the moment. I am young, I run free, and I have so many friends and things to do that it is hard to keep track of them sometimes. I am also sad a lot of the time, but I am trying really hard not to let that get to me. I am trying so hard not to let it show. 

So, the month of May has been a busy one. It's partly why I wanted to keep up with blogging every day. I haven't, of course, but that's okay. I have booked flights to Dublin and America. I want to go to Belgium and Amsterdam too, because I can and to travel whilst you're young is the time to do it. I'd much rather spend my money on experiences than objects. 

This weekend, I had an indoor "BBQ" and played board games with a group of friends. Some old, some new and some I'm just getting to know. It was quiet and sort of subdued but I think that's fine, sometimes. I'm a little lost, but it kind of seems that many people are in their twenties. I just have to keep doing, keep going, keep saying yes and hope that at some point it will all come together.

Blogging causes me to be awfully reflective and sometimes that's helpful and sometimes, I think I think too much, y'know. 

Flitterbox: Clean Bandit ~ Rather Be

Road Runner

Today, I have driven a car. 

I passed my test a while back, but driving is still scary and I don't currently have, nor really need, my own vehicle so I don't drive all that often, and even less often by myself.

Twist, slide, click, push, switch, pull, turn. 

It's weird, driving alone. So quiet! I mean, I know it's what most people do and so are completely used to doing so and once I'm out there it's fine and I won't hurt anybody (hopefully) and my jelly-like left leg will still work effectively as required. I suppose the aspect that concerns me more is being embarrassed rather than being dangerous. Being watched by people while I try to park properly, or stalling at a roundabout just as a rare golden gap in traffic appears. Awkward.

Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right. 

As with so many things in life, it's about confidence. When you're young, you can rely on other people to instil confidence in you; people tell you that you're doing something right, or well done, good job. I can drive, but I still feel like I need an instructor or willing front-seat passenger to tell me I can do it, that it will be okay. As you get older, it's less likely that people will praise you for the mundane (maybe because it can be seen as patronising or unnecessary?) so you have to pat yourself on the back and reward appropriately. My reward is banana milkshake because I'm five years old.

Look, think, change, choose, look, wait, stop. 

Driving is not yet a habit; a task run on auto-pilot. Perhaps at some point in the future, it will become so that I drive from one place to another without even remembering the journey, but I'm not there yet. 

Go! Go! Go!

Flitterbox: Sum 41 - In Too Deep
Flitterbook: Going Out ~ Scarlett Thomas

Vingt-Quatre

Today, I have accumulated over two dozen years of life.

My twenty-fourth year was a good one. I got a graduate role, finally, after a year of limbo. I met people from the internet, finally, after many years of on-line acquaintance. I made new friends; I did new things. I am so glad  that I do not have exams. I am so glad that I am not unemployed. I am ostensibly content, to a certain extent.

My twenty-fourth birthday was a good one. I met up with the girls for brunch; we painted nails in the sunshine and it was fun. Then we went for coffee & cake, and chatted about boys and chocolate. It was the most I've laughed in a long while; we giggled ridiculously over stupid things, acting like the fourteen year-old school kids that we once were.

It's weird being an adult. My job isn't ideal; my career path is unclear. I do not know where I will be when I turn twenty-five, but I'm fairly satisfied with the way this year has turned out.

Flitterbox: Florrie Arnold ~ Sunday Girl

Flitter Cappertilla

You know, when you're little and you think that if you put your hands over your eyes that no-one can see you? Well, I feel a bit like that today. I want to pull my bitter brown blanket over my curled-up body and tired eyes and shy away from everything, hoping that by hiding myself from the world, the world will go away. I want to be cocooned for a few days, weeks, months and emerge later on, refreshed and rejuvenated and ready to fly out into the future.

Like a butterfly.

Flitterbox: 6 Day Riot ~ Every Third Sunday