...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Sun. Aug. 22, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #12 - 86th Street Train Station, Waiting Area, 8:48 AM

I'm debating whether to get on this coming train. I've got a good seat in this waiting area to do some writing. Hey, if you're going to wait, this is the area to do it, just letting you know. It's a little muggy and this woman just sat down next to me. I've got nothing against her, but she's making me lean toward getting on that train. The train's not here yet even though I said "this coming train" in the first sentence. This is still true though - for a train is always coming - oh the metaphors to use with that. I've decided to pass on the metaphors that make life more confusing than it already is, but decide to get on the train - when it gets here. The waiting area must be designated for boring people, they are inspiring nothing here, nothing.

I have an inkling, but recently somebody caught my drift because I told a joke, and without my drift I can't understand this inkling and what it's about.

I'm not enjoying writing in front of other people. Pause. I see two men sitting across from me. I look up to think of what to write, then look down to write. It looks like I'm taking notes on them (of them?)...catch my drift? Ahh. Well, at least I've got MY drift back and apparently that inkling I had was that I as going to get my drift back soon - all the signs life provides you with about what's going to happen next. I hope what happens next isn't the men across from me getting sick of me taking notes, or hopefully they just get off the train soon.

A woman across the way, yeah, over there, she got on the train, chose to sit down in the seats with a row of 3, and decided to sit down in the middle seat. This is like a man going to a public bathroom, there being 3 urinals, and he chooses the middle one. Then, another dude comes in and they become more friendly than they ever planned. All guys have been in this situation. You go into the bathroom, two dudes already launching, the middle urinal free. Sane dudes, dudes that aren't insane, wait for one of the other dudes to finish. Insane dudes, dudes that aren't sane, proceed to use the middle urinal. The only occasion a sane man chooses to use the middle urinal is when he knows for certain it's going to be a quickie, a quick 10-count. One, two, ten, shake, shake, zip, don't even have to pretend to wash hands because you weren't in there long enough to make new friends, especially that-a-way.

I was about to tell that woman to move over - but then another woman got up and switched her seat. These people confuse me. What appears as a perfectly quality seat that they already have, apparently isn't good enough. They get up and move to another seat, and absolutely no apparent advantage is gained. So, instead of telling the first woman to move over, out of what's best for society, I told the second woman that moved her seat, like a teacher to a student, "Hey, get back to your seat." And all those in my section changed theirs. I have no idea why.

I thought riding the train would inspire more, but it's Sunday morning and these people just aren't inspired, I guess. The guy with his baby strapped to his chest like he's wearing a backpack on the front, frontpack, chestpack, but no, baby-pack...Ok, I sit corrected, in a proper seat I might, and did, add - that guy is inspiring. I've ridden and written on trains before and it's inspired good stuff. It must have been good otherwise wouldn't be categorized as "stuff". I guess it's hit or miss, depends who's traveling the trains that day. Some days homeruns, other days strikeouts, like today, 3 swings, wiff, wiff, wiff...take a wiff of that guy and I dare you to not be inspired...other days, bullshit baseball metaphors. Eh, actually, I sit corrected, actually no, stand, because this is my stop...stand corrected. It's not about who's on the train, or what the surroundings are. It's the act of sitting down (or standing up) in whatever seat fits you. And, since that woman is still sitting in that middle seat, essentially the middle urinal, maybe I'll try writing there tomorrow and see if that shoe fits. Don't wear sandals in this seat though, bound to feel a dribble from a new friend.

I've been trying to create a metaphor for life out of the middle urinal idea. Maybe there isn't one, and that's the metaphor. Sometimes you just have to take a leak and can't always choose your seat, or others for that matter. God made the middle urinal, so you made lemonade, I made a metaphor.