So are we ready for the weekly commute story. This is what happened when one doesn’t have a car or a licence:
So very early Monday morning I am sitting on my regular train, caffeine-less, very tired from broken sleep and cold, when this family of four walks on to the train and at first I thought ‘Aww how cute, they travel together’ They sat in the aisle next to me and when one of the sons looked over at me – I was flatted but when the mother kept looking over at me I started to think it was a little peculiar. So I thought I’d just keep an eye on it and thank god for bright light and reflections in train window, because she kept looking over at me and so did the son – plus they were speaking in another language. This thought crept into my mind – what if they were sizing me up to kidnap me and force me to be the sons’ wife.
Before I would knew it – it would be a rag fill of chloroform and an awaiting van, with the back doors open and ready. Followed by weeks and months of intense brainwashing to make me into a Romani Gypsy and dotting wife. Which would have been perfectly okay, if they had given me the same wardrobe as Noomi Rapace in Sherlock Holmes but knowing my luck it would have been more like stuck in a broom closet like Carrie and feed gruel like Oliver Twist.
So clearly none of this happened because I am sitting in my study writing this for you (and they didn’t get off at the same stop that I did) but this leads me to my question for all you writers and people with big imaginations
Is the downfall of our creative minds that fact that we can dream up a mountain out of a mole hill?
It could have been the fact that the son thought I was kinda cute and the mother was wondering where I brought my brand new snow white winter coat (or she was a secret lesbian)
Would life be simpler if we could switch off our creative minds and turn them back on when we were ready to get to work??