The Problem With A Good Hair Day

Happy Easter Monday!

If I was living my fantasy life in Tuscany, Easter Monday would be a holiday and I’d not be on the train going to work. Since the closest I’m getting to Italy these days is my Italian-themed kitchen, here I am on Sounder 1700, the 7:12 to King Street. Eminem is on my IPod, insisting that I can do anything I put my mind to.

So I’m putting my mind to writing something funny. But life has been pretty quiet, and I am content with the world. The problem with that is that conflict and adversity breed creativity. Being happy in a smoothly functioning universe does not make for interesting reading material. Writers are supposed to be tormented souls, caught up in the struggle to become themselves or plagued by circumstances beyond their control.

Me, not so much.

I can’t even complain about the weather this morning, it’s beautiful. Can I stress about the fact that I have nothing to stress about? I got up on time, found clothes without having to iron, managed to have a reasonably good hair day, and left the house on time. I remembered to pack breakfast, I beat the school buses on 20th Avenue, made it across the trestle at the speed limit, and hit green lights in Everett. Got to the train at 7:02. Nothing interesting happening there. My fellow commuters are all working or asleep. Boring.

I guess I could do cartwheels in the aisle. That’d wake everybody up, for sure. Except I’m wearing a skirt today. Not good. I could sing aloud to the IPod. That’s a good one. Let’s see what the residents of Car # 3 think of Cyndi Lauper.

All I get for that effort is polite disregard. My seatmate wakes up and raises an eyebrow at me.

Fine. Be that way. Apparently the key to Cyndi Lauper is to have an Easter Egg hair day. I’m going to go dye mine pink.

J