I had initially planned a relaxing Saturday- meeting Adam for lunch at a Thai place off of Central Square, braving the lines at the post office to mail the last of my Italy holiday cards (including one to Ale, as I couldn't get his strange Thanksgiving email out of my mind), and an evening spent with Jenny drinking Pinot and packing my bag for NYC.
Then the bus company notified me that all buses were being cancelled for the 20th due to inclement weather.
I spend a furious 30 minutes racing around my apartment in a dervish of clean socks, snow boots, cat food, extra water, hats, gloves, jeans, formal coat, Christmas gifts, unwritten letters, journals, books- I managed to cram it all in a bag, cram my hair under a Russian style hat from winters past, and drag the whole mess to South Station to beg for a ride on the 6pm Fung Wah bus, guaranteed to run no matter how unsafe the travel conditions.
It was a 7 hour ride.
I became violently nauseated, then ignored the nausea as my leg cramped up.
My cellphone broke.
The driver stopped somewhere in Connecticut in order to disembark and manually scrape ice from the windshield wipers.
By midnight the passengers were silent, all of us lulled into a white haze of the snow that we hit as it moved opposite our bus, racing to blanket Boston. We crossed our fingers. Someone vomited- one slow choking sound.
But I made a new friend. My seatmate, a woman named Tsamchoe who told me about her childhood in Nepal, her crazy boyfriends in Boston, and her sense, like mine, that Boston is a cold cold place.
We arrived in NYC Chinatown in one piece. We pulled our luggage from the belly of the bus and wheels and sneakers hit the snow. Traffic was a silent affair.
In the lobby, Mameet, a tranchcoat wrapped over her nightgown and glasses slipping down her nose pushed fistful of dollars into a cab window and opened my side door.
The holidays are here.
Current Mood: 
cheerful