On Discomfort


The bus conductor is making it his private commitment to make me as comfortable as possible. I do not want comfort. That’s not the point of riding public transportation with its rickety wooden slats and a plastic bag covering its holes. Too many times we privatize our world so we can keep others out. We have individual cars or taxis or drive-thrus. Are we really that afraid of interacting with people? That isn’t what I want, so I take the bus whenever I can.

What I find more surprising though is why people look at me and instantly assume I can’t take any form of discomfort. Is it because I look awkward sitting here notebook and jacket in hand? Is it because I stick like a sore thumb? And not in the cute, quirky kind of way but more in the ‘Help! The World is a scary place. I don’t want to handle it.’ department.


In all respects of self-examination which isn’t that effective to begin with, I ask this.People say I’m a woman child. But really more of child. How baffling to say that especially since I’ve had you. Doesn’t that make me grown up?

It does not.


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