in defence of my bus driver

I felt like I was in a bus with animals.

Two girls got on the bus. There was an issue with the fare so there became an argument between the two girls and the driver. The girls swore at the driver. The driver asked them to get off the bus. The girls refused to get off. The bus driver refused to drive. The bus stopped there. We were all inside.

When I say 'we', it didn't really feel like 'we'. It was like, there's 'me' and then there's 'this world out there'. It became scary.

A man who sat behind me started swearing. "Drive the fuckin' bus," he kept repeating. Then he said he would go up and spit at the driver.

Here comes the scary part.

As this man began repeating, "Drive the fuckin' bus," some passengers smiled at him and were amused. The man felt his power level go up a level, and began to say 'fuck' even louder. And the passengers were still amused. Most of these passengers were highschoolers, probably on their way to school.

Then it became as if all the passengers agreed with "Drive the fuckin' bus," and "What are you (the driver) trying to prove?" And they all concluded that "the driver has made her fuckin' point and that she should drive the fuckin' bus."

Let's not forget who is being assaulted here. We need to defend the one who is driving us to where we want to go. The rule is that a person should cannot get on the bus without adequate fare.

I wanted to stand up and speak the truth. But I didn't.

Instead, I got off the bus and called the police.

By the time the police arrived, another bus had come, and the two girls and the other angry passengers already found their new ride.

---

It was raining all day today. At lecture the prof and all the students killed this novel by piling on theory after theory and stretching it so far that I felt they were all aliens.

I took the subway all the way to Town Centre. I passed by the theatre and the series of posters on display. They were showing movies about saws and chainsaw massacres and there was this one poster that shows a close-up of a face with a blood-red eye.

I ordered a burger and...

I don't even want to talk about it.

I ordered it. I paid for it. Then the boy who worked at the back came out and said that the burger has to wait because he had to 'take a shit'. That was what he said. So I asked for my money back. But they couldn't open the register.

But thankfully, the other girl who worked there made the burger for me. She smiled when she handed me the paper bag.

It was such a small gesture, but it was enough to keep my sanity from shattering.

Maybe it has shattered already.

People are so lost. I say this so much now. But it does seem funny when I say that because I myself am very lost too. And so who am I to make such a statement?

As I was walking south along St. George today, I thought to myself, "I think too much." What I said to msyelf was this: I have always been content with "having a good heart". But that's not enough anymore. I save myself from guilt just by telling myself, "at least you have a good heart." That's not enough.

Then there's this urge to live outside my body. And this always comes with the (perhaps false) belief that I cannot 'live' unless I live on my own.

I want to move to Vancouver, again.

But I'm here now. And to think of it, I'm quite happy. But I'm tired now. I need to sleep. Then I need to wake up. And I'll live tomorrow, regardless of the weather.