Friday rznd September
Up, weak, creaking from the head and the bed, the door squeaks, the head hurts. It is too early, it is dark. The clock says it is time to get up by beeping. So rest a second, then get up. Bathroom. Shower. Better.
Worry about whether to wear a jacket today- will it rain? or not? It is too warm for the padded waterproof, leave the house for the deserted alley without it. There are people standing around in the dark on main street, farther on down, at the river, they have set up small wooden huts and put up signs for a "festival of cultures", a party that has nothing to do with culture, at the best this is international folk music and national dishes. Wait for the bus, say good morning there. After having greeted the smoker at the station, and ordered a cup of coffee from the unfriendly but efficient person in the cafe, sit at the small table drinking that same coffee. Watch a man at a table in the other corner fuss about his girlfriend, his bags, his girlfriend again, a strange figure, he speaks to the woman in a high pitched choked voice, he gesticulates a lot. A whole lot, untill he puts the hand into his pocket.
Leave the cafe just as the small train from Rosenheim arrives, a surprisingly large amount of people step out of what is a short train. On platform six see that the train is in already, so board it, and find a seat at a small table opposite a sleeping young woman with earphones. and heavily dark-rimmed glasses.
Now there is a sense of stress, of urgency. The train moves through the dark landscape, just lightening on the horizon as it reaches the first stop.
This is all so tiring, commuting to work before properly awake.
Up, weak, creaking from the head and the bed, the door squeaks, the head hurts. It is too early, it is dark. The clock says it is time to get up by beeping. So rest a second, then get up. Bathroom. Shower. Better.
Worry about whether to wear a jacket today- will it rain? or not? It is too warm for the padded waterproof, leave the house for the deserted alley without it. There are people standing around in the dark on main street, farther on down, at the river, they have set up small wooden huts and put up signs for a "festival of cultures", a party that has nothing to do with culture, at the best this is international folk music and national dishes. Wait for the bus, say good morning there. After having greeted the smoker at the station, and ordered a cup of coffee from the unfriendly but efficient person in the cafe, sit at the small table drinking that same coffee. Watch a man at a table in the other corner fuss about his girlfriend, his bags, his girlfriend again, a strange figure, he speaks to the woman in a high pitched choked voice, he gesticulates a lot. A whole lot, untill he puts the hand into his pocket.
Leave the cafe just as the small train from Rosenheim arrives, a surprisingly large amount of people step out of what is a short train. On platform six see that the train is in already, so board it, and find a seat at a small table opposite a sleeping young woman with earphones. and heavily dark-rimmed glasses.
Now there is a sense of stress, of urgency. The train moves through the dark landscape, just lightening on the horizon as it reaches the first stop.
This is all so tiring, commuting to work before properly awake.
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