I don't really have anything important to say other than it's T minus 30 before I kick back and enjoy the sweet taste of a strawberry margarita, a plate of nachos and the company of great gals I used to work with. We try and get together once a month. (I think we're averaging once every 6 months, on account of working in advertising, The Amazing Race and Cath's Italian classes.)
Outside, the sun is setting and the mountain is draped in gold and a thick mist is moving in from the harbour. The Liesbeek River looks like it's smoking and the traffic on the M5 shuffles forward mechanically as everyone makes their way home or, perhaps, out.
The idea of being part of mass transit has always tickled me in an abstract way. Whether it was pushing through a Tube station in London to slip between the almost-closed doors or driving to work, radio blaring, I always feel a small thrill at being part of a bigger movement. Even if it is just capitalism. I can't explain it. Maybe it's the feeling of not being alone. And I can't help but wonder how many commuters share my routine, my route and I just don't recognize their car, so I don't see them. Sometimes I don't mind just being another number, or invisible. Sometimes it feels good to be just another face in the crowd. Because sometimes just being in the crowd is what matters.
Happy Tuesday!
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