Living Within Samsara

Through a series of unfortunate events is how I would relive my fond childhood memories of taking the train to my destination. Having a couple of things against me, however, my trip would not be even remotely categorized into the ‘fond memories’ rolodex.First of all, I no longer drink. This is never a bad thing unless I’m on Amtrak. On Amtrak, I need a few stiff drinks and keep them coming please. I don’t like closed in spaces and too many people and in my case on this trip the two things keeping me going on okay was the thought of plenty of cigarette smoking and endless coffee in the lounge car. Plus, this was a Wednesday 2:00am leave, surely not many people would be on the train. I would be wrong in this.

I didn’t know until my arrival at the station that they’d done away with smoking. I discovered this by asking if I had time to have a quick cigarette. When my friend said, “Sure. Get it in until Jacksoville!” I gritted my teeth and looked at my friend, who’s employed by Amtrak, “You’re kidding me.” He says he’s not kidding and this happened in November and didn’t I know this? No. I didn’t know this.

I was curious as to whether my mother knew. Surely she didn’t. Surely she would have told me so I could have an opportunity to make an informed decision. For her to get me a ticket and neglect to tell me that for several hours I would be in emotional turmoil and mental pain because I couldn’t fulfill my very own addiction, but it’s all okay for her since she’s turned into the infamous ‘non-smoker’ would be unfathomable. Surely she did not know. My mother’s insane, I know, and needs large doses of whatever psychotropics may be available but she seriously couldn’t have known and kept it from me. That wouldn’t be crazy, that would be evil.

So on the train, here I go. No smoking, no drinking alcohol, way too many people and the smell of bad feet, body aromas from involuntary release and the nastiest bathrooms one could easily catch germs in just by breathing. I can’t smoke. Won’t drink. My nerves are raw. I can’t sleep. Too many people. Trying to have a coffee in the lounge, at least, and it seems teenager mouths have gotten just unbelievable so I couldn’t stick there long. Back to my chair and a woman from another row is laying in the chairs my train companion and I were in. With her pillows on ours. We woke her and donated our pillows to her. And as I sat in my window seat I wondered if pediculosis could jump through denim. He wondered if an attendant had Lysol and later confesses to me he had a nice Vicodin love affair going on. I envied him.

Amtrak and I are no longer friends and 15 hours later upon seeing my mother, the first thing from my mouth, “They did away with smoking!” She replied with a nonplussed, “I know.”

I wanted to hit her hard. It’s early yet.