Texas or Bust- Day 2

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I'm sick of sitting on the bus! I hate it because my long legs spend all their time curled up into little pretzels, I desperately want to brush my teeth but can't, and all this time to think is making me depressed. Isn't it seriously sad when a person can't have too much time alone to think without feeling despondent? What's worse is that I'm worrying about the same exact things I worried about half a year ago, which was the last time I allowed myself this much time to ruminate. I just talked to a friend on the phone who could relate to my experience and I'm wondering: How many people feel this way? Are we all just trying to stay busy to still our anxious little minds? I've started to pray for peace because, seriously, I'm tired of not having it.



On a more jovial note, riding Greyhound is kind of an adventure. Not only do you see lots of countryside that you may or may not have ever wanted to see, all kinds of things happen to all kinds of people. Our last bus bonded by making fun of Greyhound and complaining about the perpetual delay in the schedule. On a very crowded transfer, I saw the heat rising as two bus passengers exchanged angry words and threats over who got to pick up their bags first, of all things! I'm currently a little creeped out by the guy in the seat in front of me. He keeps turning around and looking at me like I'm vigorously kicking his seat or something. I'm just sitting here. Very quietly. I'm resisting the urge to yell "What's your problem?!" the next time he looks at me. That's probably what Ashelle would do.



That reminds me of last time I road Greyhound. During the night the man behind me kept pushing on my seat. Any time I tried to adjust it, he'd push with all his might so it would not only fail to recline further, but would be more upright than before. I was so angry! Turns out he felt crowded because the woman behind him was particularly obese and wouldn't let him recline his seat either. He tried to be all amiable about it the next morning, but I had a bad crick in my neck and I couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't just said something instead of rudely kicking me all night.



There's also now a man across the aisle from me with a HUGE head. I think he has that disease that makes you have a really big head. I can't remember what it's called. I've been polite enough not to stare at his head, but he keeps staring at me. He even cranes his neck to look at my feet and stuff. I keep covering them with my blanket, but I want to scream every time he looks over here. I don't want married men with big heads staring at me.

Twenty hours from now I should finally be where I want to go.

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