Today will be my last blog post.

At least for a little while.

Did you enjoy the element of suspense I used there?

You might be inclined to think one of two things;

“Oh no?!! Has commuting improved that much since you started your blog?!?”

and;

“Did you quit your job or get fired?”

Ha! You’re cheeky.

If the first thought actually occurred to you, you need to stop reading this post and go stick your head in an oven.

Don’t turn it on, just stay there for a while and realize what’s it like to be left in the dark.

Now back to our regular programming.

We lost some readers.

What’s with the stoppage? I figure, I’ve developed a decent following, so I might as well quit while I’m ahead of the game.

I won the Vince Lombardi trophy! Super Bowl MVP! Let me have my glory and retire a hero.

Unlike the Manning brothers.

Or Brett Favre.
I know when to cut my losses.

Sound advice for the blogosphere, but these rules are not followed at the Casino.

I digress.
None of this is true.
I’m not quitting because I’m done with blogging. There are too many thoughts in my deviant mind that need release. All of these stories to share, conversations to document, people to passive aggressively report on.

Commuting strife is an intricate beast. It needs to be cultivated so it can expand and grow.

I take my role as tribute quite seriously.

Just like a true politician, I boldly bring the real issues to the forefront, and then forget about them a few minutes later. After I’m elected or once you’ve read my post.

Anyway, I recently acquired an injury that makes blogging on my commute a pain in the wrist.

No, that’s not the hipster way of saying it. I’m being literal.

Oh, how I wish this injury was acquired through some act of heroism.

Or some amazing bar brawl.

It happened all because I chose personal hygiene.

I washed my hands after using the washroom.

When I went to dry my hands, something snapped in my wrist.

I didn’t think much of it at the time.

I started my pity party at work.

I swear, my lone parties are exceptional.

I also did what any self-respecting person would do, I tried to forget ’bout it and popped two Advil.

Advil (AdVEEL depending on whom you ask) is to Italians as Windex is to Greeks. A panacea for all problems.

Headache? Take an Advil!

Upset Stomach? Advil with ginger ale.

Hungry? Advil!

Tired? Definitely Advil!

Depressed? More Advil!

Got dumped? Take two Advil.

Happy? Take an Advil, just in case.

More digression.

So, what I thought would go away has turned into a blog-debilitating injury.

I’m temporarily out of service.

Just like the many trains that infest public transit.

I will go back to looking dead or in the process of dying.

But there’s a lot of work left for us to do.

The great thing about having an ego…there’s always the delusion to repeat as Super Bowl MVP and regain blog posting glory.

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One thought on “This train is out of service

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