Tonight, waiting on the W train at 23rd street, I heard one of those announcements over the crackly overhead speakers - the kind that seems that it must be going to every station because it has nothing to do with the one you're sitting in. This indictment happened to pertain to the A train, an entity with which I am now peculiarly familiar.

The announcement - where do those come from anyway? I really must find out - told us that, due to 'debris on the tracks', the A train would not be running to either Far Rockaway or to Rockaway Park. Seems that two of Ghidorah's heads had been temporarily truncated - and by what, trash? That for alternate service, riders should take the Ozone Park bound A, and then transfer at Rockaway Boulevard for bus service (the Q 27, I believe, though I could easily be mistaken about that. The buses are a completely other labyrinth.).

And I thought, damn, that's messed up. Because I've been there; I know how far out it is. How after a long day of working in the city, the last thing you want to do is wait on an overcrowded bus which will undoubtedly move at half or a third the speed of the train that you normally take. And what about the people trying to get out of the Rockaways to come in to their night jobs?

And then I thought, soon, or soon enough, I'll have a context for all of these announcements. An interesting concept: subway stop omniscience.

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And last night? Was a trial. Shades of gray, a concept repeating over and over in my mind. Resolutions? Communications? Maybe, some, a little. At least we were happier by the time we went to sleep. I still had the dreams though, where his is him but not him. Doing and saying terrible things to me, being awfully mean, disappearing, moving out. But fortunately in these dreams the entity that looks like him doesn't act or talk like him. More like some evil twin that I'm afraid will one day surface, but of whom I've never actually seen a trace in waking life.

A better day at work today at least. No want for tears, no dragging of clock. And tomorrow is Friday.

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A bit of sadness: I lost my would-be partner for tomorrow night's train journey. I'm terribly disappointed, but these things happen, and hopefully she'll join me on another trip. Trouble being mainly that I really shouldn't go alone (distracted girl by herself carrying semi-expensive-looking camera into the nighttime hours on the farthest reaches of the subway... hmmm...).

Which means that I have to drag my man along. Not that he's not interested in the project, just that there's other things he'd rather do with a Friday night. Like sit in front of his computer and ignore the rest of the world so as to recover from his work week. But being the incredibly supportive partner that he is at his core, he won't hear of me postponing, and being protective of me he won't hear of me going alone. So we're going, but only stopping at art stations that can't be hit during other lines - basically Atlantic and DeKalb in Brooklyn. It's a decent compromise, especially for one of the lines that must be done on a weeknight.

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The freezer at the Key Foods by our house where they keep all my good ice cream (you know - the Tofutti, the Sharon's sorbet, et cetera) is busted... again. So I decided I'd go ahead and finally try the Haagen Daaz Coconut Sorbet - I usually go for the Sharon's because it's really good and has a much lower sugar quantity. Well just FYI, the Haagen Daaz sucks ass compared to the Sharon's. I discerned that it was vegan at the store, but after tasting it I realized that they make it with water and "coconut concentrate" rather than with real coconut and coconut milk. No accounting for taste, I guess.