baggage's Diaryland Diary

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Trying to leave Spain

I'm feeling better for no specific reason.
This morning, a man was having trouble with the train station ticket machine. The train was due in five minutes and he called out to me-worried that he was going to miss the train. I helped him purchase his ticket, but a line had formed behind us. He had all his bills wadded up in his pocket, and the machine kept spitting them out. By the time he got his ticket, the train was pulling into the station and there were three folks behind him. They wouldn't be able to purchase their tickets in time and I resented the man I had helped. He was happy and thanked me, but what about the others? Shouldn't a person show up more than five minutes early if they need to purchase tickets from a machine they're unfamiliar with?
I've realized that sitting on the aisle chair of the commuter train has its benefits. You have more leg room-important for me for my own idiosyncratic reasons. You also have an easy out-meaning that you don't have to climb over anybody else's lap to get out of your seat. Of course, some folks prefer the inside seat. Possibly it's the window view-but, I doubt it. The inside seat feels cramped and I wonder why anyone would prefer it.
Unlike most of the ride to The Destination, the train tracks east of the 15 are quite bumpy. The train lunges back and forth-making it difficult to type. The scenery changes as well-from the well-kept suburban lawns of Upland and Claremont to the rusted, industrial metal of Fontana and Rialto. The passengers seem to change; the well-kept, long-sleeved, briefcase-toting, card-carrying citizens of corporate America depart on stops west of the 15. Once east of the interstate, the train hosts a different crowd-a literal change that is as apparent as a bad metaphor.
Which, of course, makes me feel guilty.
I dislike generalizations, and, consider myself above the sort of stereotypical notions that I can't stop from making every time the train whistles past the 15. But, I make them despite myself.
Add another one to the self-improvement list: stop generalizing. Stop stereotyping.
The Sunday hike was glorious. The weather alternated between sun and rain and the four of us hiked further than we had before-discovering new trails along the way. Despite my flat feet, I've come to love hiking. The process clears my head, and allows me plenty of opportunity to tune out.
My three hiking buddies (Girl-Unit included) don't seem to mind when I tune out-but I wonder. I tend to not pay attention to the conversation when hiking and I fear that my actions are rude. Of course, I've known these folks for years (one relationship dates back to elementary school), but familiarity is no excuse to be an asshole. I wonder if I that's what I am? Hope not.

8:46 p.m. - 2005-04-26

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