It’s 4:38 a.m.

And I’m on a Metra train bound for Chicago.

“You’re NOT workin’, are ya?”

That’s Darrell, the (42-year-old called in to work the early shift divorced with three kids lookin’ to buy a laptop) train conductor I just met.

I’ll say it again: it’s 4:38 in the morning.

Way too early to be up, showered, and out. Way too early to be conversatin’ with anyone.

“You’re so tan! Ya just get back from vacation or somethin’?”
“Where do you work?”
“You’re not married or have a boyfriend, do ya?”

And way too fucking early for that kind of crap, for sure.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I settle into my seat, crabby that I missed the 4:30 express. The extra ten minutes of sleep was not worth it.

I miss Sir Richard on the 7:42, who is not Darrell and gives me water and reminds me so much of my grandfather who died way back in 1978.
~~~~~~~~~~~
So why ARE you up this early today, Heather?

My company is participating in a special charity event. So at exactly 6:20, I need to be camped at the corner of Madison and Wacker selling newspapers.

Yes.

Extra, extra. And all that.

Today is the Chicago Sun-Times Kids’ Day to benefit Children’s Memorial Hospital.

Corporate teams all over Chicagoland are selling special editions of the newspaper for $1 each to benefit the hospital.

Great hospital, great cause.

Still too fucking early.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Again, with the irony.

As much as I love supporting this cause – it’s one of my favorite charities – I’d much rather be writing for the newspaper than selling them on a corner.

I know what some of you are thinking (Well at least one of you and you know who you are, Lisa in Florida):

“Could be worse, Hedy. You could be selling something ELSE on a street corner in Chicago! Buahahahahaha!”

That would be extremely funny if it wasn’t so damn early.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And yes, it could be worse.

I could be the parent of a small child who is fighting leukemia.

I could be up this early because I’m on my way to Children’s Memorial at this time every day because the thought of his frightened, weak little body alone in that big hospital bed is more than I can take. I could be wondering if we can afford to make the house payment this month because I can’t work and we’ve stopped opening the medical bills that seem to come every day now. I could be wondering how much more time I’ll have with my son who is Everything, so I soak up every minute, every precious hour with him like a big weepy sponge.

Yes, it could be worse.

That’s what I’ll think about, selling those newspapers on that corner so early this morning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The noises a train makes when it stops at every town between Aurora and Chicago
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Good