Wheelchair

I took the bus into work yesterday. It was particularly cold this morning, the sun mitigating the bite of the Minnesota wind. People seem in their own world on my morning bus, but no one is blatantly offensive. Sometimes you see smiles and hear "Good morning" being muttered. Sometimes it's a glance and a nod of acknowledgment cutting through the iPod shuffle.

It's not like my busmates and I are BFF, but it's nice to have a positive and set routine, and friendly folks help with the stability.

We're about 5 blocks from that stop where just about everyone gets off. There's woman in a wheelchair outside the bus. The bus driver opens the door and begins lowering the wheelchair ramp.

I don't think I've seen as shocking a reaction "the wheelchair." People gristled, grumbled, let out these hisses, sighs of annoyance, grunts. And shaking their heads they sprinted to the back door, unwilling to wait the 60 seconds for someone to get on the bus. You'd have thought a mobster with a machine gun boarded the bus.

The woman in the wheelchair seemed in her own world on my morning bus, not blatantly offensive. Just like everyone else. I arrived to work at 8:17, just 2 minutes late than usual, but with a bit less respect for my busmates.

Pack Rat

I'm getting my act together. After taking some time off between grad school and that transition o the professional world.

Packrat:

I'm unpacking, trying to make my place presentable. My goal is simple--I just want to be able to say, "Hey--let's meet up at my place!" without shame. There's only one problem with my ultimate goal of cleanliness...I have way too much crap. I'm just realizing this now, sitting in an apartment larger than I've ever had. I've been fully functioning for about a week. But alas, I have 30 unpacked boxes left over.

What's in there? A bunch of crap. Trophies from my childhood. Trumpet etudes from middle school. Crap from college. Articles upon articles from grad school, most of which will never be read again. Bills. Tax forms from the 1990s. Bills from Bowling Green. CD cases, alumni magazines, my editorial writings from Penn State. A coin collection. Stamp collection. Random trinkets that need to be thrown out.

I'm not certain, but I need to throw a bunch of it out!

My mom delights in throwing stuff out. I on the other hand often think, "I'm sure I can use this in the future." I rarely do. I'm just now realizing this. I AM A PACK RAT!