It was brighter this morning than it has been. Pale orange above the trees, street lamps flickering off and the gradual fade from violet to blue as the sun came up. As ever, the bus rattled its way through the traffic lights and streets of waking houses. Then the busy railway station gave way to a warm, plasma-lit train carriage that sped through the morning.
I’ve been wondering whether the commute to and from Oxford might be the best bit of coming here. That’s mad, isn’t it? The travel is supposed to be the inconvenient nuisance you have to put up with in order to get from A to B, not the reason you do it. And yet, I really love the space it offers me. I drift between the sidings and hedgerows. I spin into dreams as bridges and towns and telegraph poles go by. I don’t have to be me, at least for a little while.
I almost took the bus from the station this morning, but I convinced myself to walk the canal. It wasn’t raining, it wasn’t icy cold. And so I did. Headphones in, audiobook on, rucksack bobbing. One foot in front of the author for Mr Anonymous in Jericho. It’s almost a disappointment when the office appears and I fish my pass out of my pocket.
Lots of people in today. I’ve taken to listening to a white noise playlist on days like these, just so I don’t get distracted by conversations and yes, the radio. The irony of coming in to be around people and then literally disconnecting myself from them isn’t lost on me. I’m a bucketload of paradoxes sometimes.
In an hour or so, I’ll skip out and walk back too. Same route - canal, train, bus. Loving every minute of the freedom of it. I suppose it’s okay to love opposite things all at once? I love being at home, and I love the in-between places. I love the company of colleagues, and I love having the option of switching them off while I concentrate. I love climbing aboard a train and I love getting off it.
It will be dark when I disembark from the 33 bus. That’s okay. The warm lights of our house will guide me home.
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