I left the Sox game after the 8th inning because my ride back to NH fell through and I wanted to get to South Station at a reasonable hour. Broken thing #1: Red Sox Morale. I hold myself personally responsible for their failure to persevere after tying it up.
Broken Thing #2: My soul. I got to the T-stop for South Station at 9:52 but by the time I had walked/escalated up to the right desk it was 10:02, so I had to buy a ticket for the 11 o'clock.
An hour. A bus station in which I knew no one. No newsstands or book stores open. No bars. It was hell.
I'm pretty sure, actually, it was hell...somehow I managed to climb out of it like Constantine with a vial of...something...it's never really explained in the movie so I can't round out that quote... (broken thing number 3?)
I'm still up and wired because, again with the whole ride thing (alas that my brother has a legitimate job and needs the car I enjoyed so frivolously until my Bohemian existence began a short while ago) I ran home from the bus station. I had pregamed, worn shorts and running shoes to the Sox, and planned out the route, which only came to a 5k...but still. Running at midnight thirty is not conducive to ever getting to sleep. Ever.
On the bright side, I've just finished tooling around with google maps so as to maximize the efficiency of my walk to the grocery store, and planned out my route for tomorrow (readers, beware, lest you catch sight of the smelly runner who may or may not stop by Prescott Park during the music! Mwahaha)
2 weeks ago