Once a week I co-teach a dance class to 6th graders on the Southside. The teaching is an interesting project, as most of these kids are just on the verge of hormones, and definitely out of any attention span or focus by 4PM. We are working on swing, which they are actually pretty good at when they can manage to stop running their mouths for more than 20 seconds.
But in order to get to the school, I have to commute an hour. Including a trip on Metra, which is the light rail, not to be confused with the El, or the god-forsaken Bus.
And there is something about riding the metra that just zones me. Metra naps are quite nice, except for the inevitable "waking in a panic that you missed your stop". Maybe it is conditioning from sleeping on so many trains while in Europe, or it's just a low-energy moment and the Pavlovian response to gentle movement and clicking. But even if I don't doze, my mind just shuts down. Watching the tracks. Like a mental pacifier.
Which is good, because there is nothing to look at. The seats are throwbacks from when gold and orange seemed like good fashion sense. And the windows are tinted such that any bright, warm day looks bleak and cold.
Sorry I don't have any pictures, but you're not missing much.
on iTunes: Alana Davis - "Can't Find My Way Home"
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