I dislike the journey home from work. I don’t mean I don’t like going home; it’s nice to go to a place where you feel safe and secure. I mean the actual journey itself. First, there’s the walk out of work. You’d think that would be quick, but no! Some people walk really slowly, and if I’m stuck behind them, my footsteps tend to be sarcastic. I never knew it was possible to express feelings in a gesture, like sarcasm with walking, but there you have it.
The next leg of the journey is going to the bus stop. Normally, quite a pleasant journey, but the fact that I have to cut it down to as little as three minutes, when it takes about six or seven, if I’m walking at a leisurely pace, really boils my conker.
Then the wait at the bus stop. Oh, bus stop people! How I wish I could exterminate the fucking lot of them. First, there’s the drunken old men. They’re actually okay, I’ve nothing against them. Then there’s the old women. Oh, so self-entitled, self-important old hags. If I don’t get to the bus stop before they turn up, I’m either faced with them collectively growling at me, just for being there, or one of them talking to me. Hey, here’s a tip: If I have my earphones in, it’s a signal for you to FUCK OFF! Seriously, world, fuck off. Then when the bus turns up, they barge me out of the way, as if I wasn’t taught how to queue, and to let old folk on before me. I always do that, but they’re rude as fuck, barging on like that. Old duffers.
Then I finally get on the bus. The driver is usually a pleasant one, no issues there, but sometimes I can’t get my desired seat. Still, I pull my phone out and message Aria, catch up with Facebook notifications, check emails and just sit there in my own wee world, until it’s time to get off.
A busy main road awaits me, and I navigate it as quickly as possible. Then there’s a small side road, just branching off the main road. That’s pleasant, but sometimes there are neds (Non Educated Delinquents - fairly self-explanatory). They don’t always bother me, but sometimes they shout at me. Then there’s the green bridge. I never feel safe on that thing, but it’s a necessary evil; we have a lot of waterways here in Britain, but we never use them. That’s a crying shame. Down another main road and through a lane. I hate that lane because you just never know what’s lurking on the other side. Nobody, usually, but sometimes on a Friday, there are neds. Annoying wee shites, they are. Up the hill, and I’m finally home!
I go upstairs, dump my jacket and hat, wash up because data entry makes my hands all disgusting, have food, tea, then watch Buffy and finally off to bed, to wake up early in the morning to Skype with Aria, then go back to sleep, wake up, have breakfast, have a shower, write for a bit, listen to music, then head off the work to begin the madness all over again.
My routine is a boring one, but at least I have one that allows me free time and money. That, I really can’t complain about... I just wish the old folk would stop thinking they’re entitled to everything, but that’s a much deeper issue, which I won’t go into just now. Let’s keep this musing politics-free, or almost politics free.