To say I am impatient is an understatement. Something about waiting for something triggers my anxiety, and I panic, choke up and have to refocus on the ability to breathe. Being trapped on a city bus for over an hour on the way home from work pushed me to an extreme that I have never been to before. There had apparently been a multi vehicle crash on my bus route and traffic was backed up an hour in each direction, at rush hour.

I started thinking about how much of my time was being wasted trapped with fifty other people on this diesel fueled nightmare. I don't know why I felt I was so pressed for time, or why that triggered the clammy palms and throat constriction.
I then started wondering about bills, deadlines, upcoming projects, failed relationships, new prospects, friends I haven't heard from in a while, friends that probably think I am ignoring them, the boy in the hospital, the boy in my dreams, the lady who's ice tea refill I forgot to deliver to at the restaurant--everything.

It was a good thing that I had a seat, beside the window so I didn't look so crazy closing my eyes and pressing my forehead against the cool glass to cool off. Calming down has never been a strong ability in my personality, it falls somewhere between thinking before I speak and minding my own business. As my heart rate began to race, the claustrophobia turned this entire experience up a notch, and I needed out! I looked to my left and noticed that we were stuck in the middle of an overpass, and started to recall that bridge collapse in America a few years ago. After sizing up my fellow passengers-literally, I concluded that I had got onto the bus with a shocking percentage of the city's obese.

Some lady next to me started to rattle her newspaper, and bitching loudly on her cellphone about how she was about to be late for dinner. My kryptonite, a bitching woman, sitting right next to me. I turned my music up higher. I caught her looking at me, looking at her watch and nervously tapping her right high heel encased foot. She shook her newspaper a bit harder and louder, I was thinking; "this bitch thinks my music is too loud", so I decided to turn it down a bit. As luck would have it, my ipod wasn't agreeing and turned up to maximum, deafening me and attracting a lot of attention. "99 Problems (But a Bitch Ain't One)" by Jay Z began blasting from the skull candy around my head, I looked at the newspaper lady, smirked and commented "sorta speaks for itself, eh?" Eliciting several laughs from fellow passengers, I got a little shy and was happy to see that it would take a little longer, but I could walk from the next stop.

I heard on the news at eleven that a man had lost his life in that accident--It made me wonder if the bus ride was the my only wasted time yesterday.