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Tromping
There's a postal outlet two subway stops east of here, and as it's in the same direction as work I never think of it as being that far away. A bit of a hike with the walker but not as far as my old massage studio. There's also a genuine post office one subway stop to the west, but that's so faaaar. Now distance is partly a mental construct so I decided to go west to mail my tax return. That, and the fact that the lineups at the east outlet are always hideous, and especially so in April. And lord it was so faaaar. Seems like I was walking for hours.
But it's a nice PO, in a degentrifying stretch of the main drag where in happier days, a decade ago, my acupuncture studio was. Angry guys yelling at the world, bars catering to same, and occasional panhandlers. (I don't count the ones west of me as panhandlers per se, they're just the regulars.) But I got a chatty clerk who excused herself halfway through printing the amazing number of labels a special delivery requires, to talk to a woman and her dog in the other line and give the dog treats. Woman is from the local vet clinic who took care of clerk's Shih Tzu in its last days; clerk now has a little medallion with some of dog's ashes in it. So that was my human interaction for the day.
Then I walked back along the main drag and strangely it wasn't any distance at all. Distance is a mental construct indeed. But I stopped at the Vietnamese restaurant across from the subway station and got a banh mi and coffee which I ate in the sun by the Chrstie Pits, the local park created by a glacier who knows how long ago. (Google: starting at least 72,000 years ago, finished about 12,000 years ago. ) It's now definite: whatever that restaurant does to its coffee, it disagrees with me. Not enough condensed milk, maybe? But it's been heartburn all evening, as it was the last time I had it.
And since last night was a ferocious nuit blanche, in which I got to sleep some time after 4 a.m. solely by an exercise of will, I hope the walking will get me to sleep at a decent hour tonight.
But it's a nice PO, in a degentrifying stretch of the main drag where in happier days, a decade ago, my acupuncture studio was. Angry guys yelling at the world, bars catering to same, and occasional panhandlers. (I don't count the ones west of me as panhandlers per se, they're just the regulars.) But I got a chatty clerk who excused herself halfway through printing the amazing number of labels a special delivery requires, to talk to a woman and her dog in the other line and give the dog treats. Woman is from the local vet clinic who took care of clerk's Shih Tzu in its last days; clerk now has a little medallion with some of dog's ashes in it. So that was my human interaction for the day.
Then I walked back along the main drag and strangely it wasn't any distance at all. Distance is a mental construct indeed. But I stopped at the Vietnamese restaurant across from the subway station and got a banh mi and coffee which I ate in the sun by the Chrstie Pits, the local park created by a glacier who knows how long ago. (Google: starting at least 72,000 years ago, finished about 12,000 years ago. ) It's now definite: whatever that restaurant does to its coffee, it disagrees with me. Not enough condensed milk, maybe? But it's been heartburn all evening, as it was the last time I had it.
And since last night was a ferocious nuit blanche, in which I got to sleep some time after 4 a.m. solely by an exercise of will, I hope the walking will get me to sleep at a decent hour tonight.