A journal entry. Written on the way from from the Suburban Legends show at The Rickshaw Stop on Monday. I've taken to writing in a journal as a kinda of therapeutic thing, stream of consciousness writing and what not, and this task just so happens to fit into that. So when I started writing this entry, I decided to make it public, and make it a task. This is my Observation.


I'm not exactly sure who I'm suppose to be.
At least I'm confident in that.
I put my faith in myself just as blindly as I put my faith in others.
Maybe more so.
Maybe not.

But, I do know that a BART train at 11:30 on it's way to the Bay Point station from downtown S.F. is filled with beautiful people. Women, specifically. I guess I should just make this journal entry something public. It's tasking time. Hold on a minute while --- scratch that. No Ipod. There's a skateboarder in a, fuck, what do you call it? Not a linen, that's not it. it's like a lumberjack shirt. Black and Red plaid. The train is humming along, no, ringing. The ringing in my ears plays with the ringing of the train plays with the humming of the lights. Someone's on their phone, but I can't even pretend to try and understand what he's saying. Could be a foreign language for all I know. First Oakland stop, and a handful of my silent compatriots leave.

The pretty girl across from me was stretching her neck? and we accidentally caught eyes.
So much can be said in a glance, but one doesn't want to say too much, or infer too much.

texting. texting. texting.

Earphones in your ears. Ears plugged into Ipods. Phones in hands, eyes on phones.

Even when they aren't necessarily texting anyone.
They aren't.

Everyone stays locked in on their phones.
Safe in it's liquid crystal display.
Why try and bother living with everyone on this train. This train that's happening right here, right now?

One guy is asleep. he's got the right idea.

Two more stops go by, a handful more leave, and one guy in a baby blue shirt wearing a goatee steps on.

There are 16 of us in this train car right now.

Sixteen stories that would take a life time to tell.

So I'll start.
Pretty girl and I just caught eyes again, I'll start with her.

Lauren is 23, and Lauren is about 5'11, and according to the magazines she's slightly over weight. She knows she sin't and is totally comfortable with that. She's sitting on this late train, 11:58 pm, Monday, October 20, 2008, because today she went to visit Victoria in the city. They didn't do too much, went shopping, maybe got some coffee, mostly just caught up with each other. After all, they've both been so busy, Lauren with hr job and Vikki with her boyfriend, well, fiancé. (New fiancé, he proposed two weeks ago.
Which is weird for Lauren.
She struggles with the fact that her best friend doesn't have as much free time anymore. As they got older, they fall more and more apart as responsibilities, and literally distance, kept them apart.
It's hard for Lauren to relate to Vikki. Lauren's only been in one long term relationship, but her boyfriend, being young, wasn't sure if she really was "the one."
That was a serious blow to her self-esteem.

[Guy suddenly woke up and pretty much flew off the train, right in front of me. Go Orinda!]

Vikki and John have been dating for three years now. They actually met at Lauren's birthday a few years back, freshmen in college. And on this BART train, Lauren is having problems focusing on reading her book. She's constantly losing her place, and glancing about the train car. She can't stop thinking about them, and she hates it, but she is very, very jealous of Vikki.
And she goes from jealousy.
To Guilt.
She wants the best for her friend, but she can't help but feel envy for her.

It's hard to have nice handwriting on a BART train @ 12:11 am in Lafayette.

8 of us left.
I was too busy writing to notice we reached our half-life.

Lot's of people reading on this train, and me, writing.

People can't tell I'm writing in a journal.
They know nothing about me.
I know nothing about them.

We're breaking limits on innocence and paranoia here.

One more stop, Walnut Creek.

5 of us left.

Pretty girl is still here, and though no one is reading my thoughts right now, I'm sure I might be starting to sound kind of stalk-ish.

Guy with a white hoodie has been staring in my general direction for a long time now.
That doesn't make my future walk to the car in Bay Point any less frightening.
Cause getting jumped sucks.

12:18 am, Pleasant Hill, pretty girl and some other guy leave. Now it's just the white hooded man and myself. and some guy with a ponytail.

My hearing is back a bit, and to be honest the train doesn't sound as nice as it did when I heard it through the limiting deafness I was experiencing. It comforted me, I suppose.

Like an Ipod.

They have Ipods and phones, I have ringing and my journal.

Time to pack up.

Tue. Oct 21, 2008.
12:20 AM
BART to Bay Point.