Tags
cajon pass, cajon pass commute, cajon pass traffic, I-15, I-15 traffic, up and down the hill, work commute
I know I have been quiet this past couple of months.
Life has been the same for me but mostly, I did not have any good things to say. I couldn’t bring myself to write something funny and comical, or inspirational – which I aspire to do in this blog.
I need to vent and I need to express myself and this anger and tiredness. So, bear with me.
I find it that no matter how trying this commute is and no matter how many times people tell me to quit, find another job or move to a new place, or people telling me many times how crazy I am for still doing this journey, I put my blinders on (metaphorically, of course) and forge ahead.
I am stubborn as a mule. I stand by my decisions. I wait. It may look like I don’t plan (given of number of years I have been doing this commute), but inside, I do. I really do.
There’s this person H who lives in Victorville or Hesperia and also takes the Metrolink train to work. After many years of seeing this person and then suddenly days turned to months of not seeing his car there in the parking lot, I figured he must’ve quit this journey. Though, once, I saw him on the freeway. He probably found another job closer to home. I wish that same fate for me too or if my work would allow me to work from home on some days, that would be ideal.
I get tired of saying the same things to people of why I am late (mostly at work). I can feel they get tired of hearing me say them, too. Most times, probably not believing me anymore, I fear.
People in LA compare their commute times to mine and always easily, without giving it a thought, say, “Just leave earlier next time.”
Why can’t they see that when I almost always arrive earlier than they do when they themselves live a mere five miles away? I don’t hear people say, “Oh, just leave earlier next time.”
An understanding among them exists. I know that pain. I used to live in LA too.
I know that travelling five miles in forty minutes is painful. That is everyday for them. But leaving 8 o’clock in the morning to get to work at nine is not bad at all.
Try leaving 6 o’clock in the morning – everyday. And see how far you’ll get.
Sleeplessness from thinking and planning. Fatigue from commute and sleeplessness. Depression sets in from lack of energy to meet up with friends because they live far away and I am tired of always travelling to their place or even meeting halfway which is still not halfway for me. And then there’s lack of time to do things I love to do.
For example, one thing I used to be able to do is scrapbook. Plentiful pictures (especially now that it’s so easy to take pictures and print them) await and one more important thing gets in the way and the project gets pushed further and further back.
So, I found an easier, faster alternative. Digital scrapbooking. This process, though, does not give me the sheer satisfaction of actually making (paper cutting, scribbling words) it. But it does the job, at least, especially when it comes to making the annual family album.
Chores, I love them too. I love doing laundry with washing machines of course. I love ironing. I love folding. I love grocery shopping. I love sorting and put things back in order. I love cleaning. I dislike washing dishes that’s why I think the dishwasher is the greatest invention ever. With so little time to do these within the week and as much as possible, spend weekends with family instead of doing these, I begin to dislike them (chores) too.
But then this morning I woke up with a fierce, renewed commitment to life. It must be because of the special program for moms my child’s class had and the pure joy I saw in my child’s eyes when she finally spotted me in the crowd. I did get teary seeing that.
And I had saved that renewed power and energy into my power bank. These past few months I have been breaking into that bank for the many breaking-down emergencies.
That’s why today I promised myself that I would do everything in my power for my children to give the best I got.
But life has a way of bringing you down.
Down and trodden to the ground.
Today was commute in hell. I will spare you the hellish details. Ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit (approx 37°C) was yesterday’s temps. This morning was a chilly fifty-five degrees (12°C).
Thus, a heavy fog. From my house, I could see the mountains had some clouds halfway. Nothing serious looking. However, I read on CHP web site of an eight-vehicle pile up brought mostly by the heavy fog that had set in along the Cajon Pass.
Freeway overhead signs said that it would take approximately 90 minutes to I-210 which is about 35miles. I said to myself that’s okay, I’ll take the next train.
That freeway sign is wrong.
It took me almost three hours to get to the station! And I broke down in tears. So much for this fortified, renewed commitment. I did a no-holds barred crying. Even when I thought I had cried it out (I called my husband first for I needed some consoling) before calling work that I will be very late, I couldn’t help but cry to my poor co-worker who was very sympathetic but probably uncomfortable with the sudden outburst.
Now, as I am writing this post while in the train, I had used the restroom (yes, these Metrolink trains have them) and checked the mirror to make sure no trace of eye swelling can be seen. I had drunk almost all my water to calm myself and I plan to eat my orange after this writing to feel refreshed.
We are almost at the Los Angeles Union Station, I must put on my mask and put on a brave, brighter face again.
I wonder what the title of this post should be…
