‘This train isn’t going anywhere.’

So barked the conductor as we attempted to set off on our journey into the city this past weekend. And with those five words — and a last minute change to the departing track number — the dye was cast for the day.

Social media can be a cesspool, this much is true. But lately, it’s the predictability that gets me. The blatant toxicity as people scurry into their established respective camps to dig in and defend whatever the accepted perspective of the day might be.

I recently shared a humorous {in retrospect} story with a friend, where I felt compelled to leave a raged-induced voicemail {at 1 o’clock in the morning, no less} meant for the maintenance department who handles {‘handles’ being a very generous term} work orders in my apartment complex. Problem was, it wound up in the main corporate mailbox, and was fielded by probably the nicest, most competent woman employed by said corporation. Whoops.

Waiting. It’s something we spend a great deal of our lives doing, whether we realize it or not.

Waiting for return phone calls and text messages. Waiting for acknowledgements, whether of material gifts or those more subtle talents we wish to share with the world. Waiting for plans to be finalized, commitments to be made, progress.