of battles and battle wounds

A conversation (well kinda) with a friend via msn came back to haunt me.

I had a tough morning battling my way into the train and having my face nearly thrust into someone's armpits is'nt my idea of a fun way to start the day, nor the feel of another woman's body pressed too tightly for comfort against my back titillating too.

Having someone shouting to please move further in when there IS really no further room to maneuver is irritating. I had this sudden ludicrous thought that maybe we are deflatable beings that can be furthered pressed and packed.

In short, my natural sunsign was in full bloom and my rising sign persona hiding in safety, away from the ugliness of the morning battle.

To hear someone who had earlier posted via facebook about the great wonders of Singapore's public transport is like throwing salt on wounds. Raw wounds. Freshly made. With the effects still bleeding down my back. A sign which I missed.

There are some days when I went home, thinking today was a great day and well, that day was definitely not.

And that morning, was only the beginning of a horrid day. Preempted by the sign.