GUT reactions

My sphincter was threatening to fail as I rode the bus tonight. The driver made the bus actually hover between taking a right and a left, drawing out my agony at finding out if I was going to have to repeat the episode described in the latest blog below (LOST ... IN ... IOWA ....), or if I would find myself dropped off in comfort a mere 50 feet from my car. It's even colder outside now, by the way.

We just came from the apartment complex I described in that blog ... passing twice (on the way there, and on the way back) the un-mapped park (I think actually called the "Mormon Handcart Park"). I felt queasy with anticipation and revulsion, reliving my experience, the utter frustration mixed with with mild agony and fear. And of course the urge to pee.

To the left, I would have plunged once again into the abyss of unknown destination, of walking in the cold dark. Of hauling my bag, white coat, and change of clothes as I marched forever forward on tired feet, wasting precious time and energy and delaying even more my next chance for a brief respite.

To the right laid salvation, that great concrete oasis with the promise of a rapidly-warming car, comfortable seats, shelter, and rapid transport to my ultimate place of rest (for this month, at least). My personal conduit to transient serenity, sanity, a full night's rest, and overindulgence in comfort foods. (Damn Hershey's "Nuggets"!)

The pit in my stomach continued to rise slowly, as he inched the bus toward the intersection, waiting on ridiculously slow motorists to cross his path. He floated toward the left, cut back to the right, edged left, and leaned to the right. All in a mere matter of inches as the bus rolls.

To the right, or the left? Did he hang a Ralph, or a Louie?

The Lady, or the Tiger?