It's seven twenty and I'm cold and my shoes are sodden. I'm hungry and tired, but more than that, I'm excited. So I deal with all of the attributes with class (I trip over my own foot and my open bag is dropped on he floor; its chocolatey and sugary contents peeking out of the top. But that's okay. You're okay. You're still alive. You're about to get on the train, ready for a wonderful weekend.)
I'm about to pass the man surverying the putting-the-ticket-in-the-slot-hoping-with-fear-that-it-will-pop-out-of-the-top-again-and-let-me-through-to-the-platform and smile with glee. Only I have so much stuff that my ticket goes into the slot, out the other, the doors open and I don't pick up my stuff in time to get through the entrance. But the kind man uses his magical ticket and lets me through. All is okay. You are okay. My hair may be stuck to my face and I may be very pink, and I may have made a strategic error through wearing tights and a dress, but I'm good- verging on brilliant! I don't rush up the stairs to the platform. I'm here in plenty of time. Well, plenty, as in ten minutes. Reaching the top of the stairs, popping out into a magical land of trains and people and excitedness, I triumphantly smile.
I love train stations.
There, on my platform, I watch a train depart from the station. I laugh to myself, "Imagine if that's my train." Then my eyes dart around.
I hate trains.
I sit on a platform bench and stare at my hands. It was a new adult adventure and I blooming messed up.
I retrieve my phone, and as I see the time on my phone strike seven thirty I remember adjusting the time on my phone the previous night in order to wake myself up earlier.
As I hear rain violate the ground, I nod. Solemnly.
A Train Trip & A Book,
The Girl in the Moonlight.