Six and a half hours.
That’s how long I had on a peaceful locomotive completely alone, which is why the universe gently (then incessantly) prodded me to wake up the brain.
It’s the perfect opportunity to be inspired and call upon the spirit of Hemingway but I told myself six and a half hours was the perfect amount of time to digest a million thoughts.
But then the universe was like “Hey Lauren, look up at the rural Indiana stars,” to which I said, “Shut up universe can’t I just enjoy them? Besides they’re not Indiana stars they belong to the rest of the world, thank you very much.”
Then I noticed that I was listening to John Mayer’s “Say” so just imagine John’s melty honey voice coming into focus like “lalalalala say what you need to saaaaaay,” to which I was like “DAMMIT, UNIVERSE. FINE. SIT DOWN, I’LL WRITE.” So here I am, with an hour and a half left on this peaceful train with my hood up because it’s something I always want to do and I just, in this second, deemed night trains the perfect opportunity not only to write but to also put a friggin great hoodie to use. (Poll: Do I look like a brooding cool cat or just a Grade A idiot?)
[Author’s after-note (is that a thing?): I kept the hood up.]
I started out sitting near a studious Purdue guy so I began reading my media communications textbook (I actually don’t know the official title of it which should be some sort of academic no-no red flag) but then I had to move to a different car where I heard some guys behind me talking about their magical train trip from Indianapolis to Seattle or something, so wanderlust kicked in and the headphones went on.
Earlier I was listening to John Mayer’s “Born and Raised” (I swear I’m not his PR person or anything) and then it struck me that I’m almost born and raised. Not that adulthood comes with college and solo transportation, but for a whole host of reasons, I’m picking up what John’s putting down. Every. Single. Line. In. That. Song. Resonates.
Now that I have these thoughts on paper, can I enjoy the ride, universe?
**Lauren looks up at the Indiana stars that actually belong to Montana and Georgia and Maine and every other state of this fine Union and sees no indication that they’ll release a stampede of fury over wasted opportunity**
Thanks, Universe, we cool?
**A vision of John Mayer comes and fist-bumps Lauren, handing her a cappuccino (decaf, cuz she wants to rest now), signaling that the Universe is content. He then gives a little tug on the strings of her hoodie to keep her humble**
And to be totally honest, I’m not sure if it was exactly six and a half hours or seven hours or five because time change is something I don’t understand along with astronomy and astrology and the difference between the two and why I now smell weed and/or skunk at the train stop. Let’s just say there’s a lot of uncertainties swimming around me right now so I’m just gonna do some star gazing and try not to dwell on the fact that I didn’t listen to nearly enough Lana del Rey on this trip.