My commute is like a house music dance routine. I can't stand still for an instant. I try to maintain my speed-walking strides and feel thwarted at the all-too-often sight of a stop light. New York hasn't rubbed off on me yet as I find myself jay-walking more now than I did before getting a taste of that Big Apple.
I am always trying to get somewhere ASAP, always giving myself earlier deadlines and treating them as if not meeting them would mean literal "deadlines". Punctuality is entrenched in my psyche to repent for my mother's chronic tardiness.
How very un-Italian of me. There, it is as if time did not exist, and this ignorance can certainly be bliss. It can also be infuriating if you need something done (Pleuve can be a testament to the flaws of Mediterranean bureaucracy).
The moments of stillness I enjoy? Yoga, reading on the bus, and sleep. Everything else is a race to the finish.
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