Pants vs observations

I've decided to make today an 'internal commentary/what I observe' blog posty sort of day.
I suppose the near constant running commentary in my head is where most ideas are born, created, whatever. I never really took the time to consider writing this commentary out before. Or if I have, it was short lived it shelved with my many other ideas.

I take the lrt to work every morning. This is the gist of my thoughts this morning.

Placid cement. Could that work? Could that be a saying? It doesn't seem to make sense. Remind me to clarify the definition of placid when I'm not walking over all this cement. I'm bound to catch a toe.
Edmonton. With your cemented evenings and skies. I'm glad there's trees here too. I'd get cabin fever with all this grey.

I shouldn't have worn my sweater. I wonder if it's too late to reconsider taking it off. Better not. Pocket storage is important. It's housing my keys and phone. Where would I consider putting them if not for my sweater. This is stupid. I'm keeping my sweater on.

There is a curiosity in me today. That word, it keeps repeating. why is it that some days I feel like I'm seeing everything for the first time?
The moment stretch of in between stations. From the university to government center. I love watching the light change just before we get outside, before we cross the river. Everyone, everyday, they put down their books or crosswords or text conversations to stare out the windows in this scenery view before heading underground again. The river is lower today than yesterday. You can see the still damp lines above previously unseen graffiti of where the river used to stand. I imagine my dad would have observed this too. As he always notices these tiny details that would be irrelevant to city folks. Those of us who take no time to consider the moisture content of the world. I miss him.

the broad neanderthal-esque forehead of this child across from me is off putting. I'm considering genetics. And how there's proof in evolution. Her mother, ironically, is reading a Queston of christianity. The kid is straining her head to see if she can make out the words. Spewing vested interest in her caretaker with her body language. we pass government center and the kid announces corona station. Expecting a reaction, she searches her mums face for anything. And gets nothing. I imagine my own child sitting beside me, in the same circumstances. And I imagine I'd say it back in a cartoon voice and we'd laugh. But in this realistic moment of rejection, she's beautiful. That child. Holding her slurpee and smacking her gum, waving off disappointment like its nothing but a Sunday drive. I'm jealous.
You have so much to look forward to kid. Don't ever loose your sense of curiosity and ability to wave things off.
She's staring into the darkness of the tunnel as we pass. Maybe staring at me as I stare at her. And I wonder if she's become consciously aware enough to ponder life, as I ponder life.
Then the sick reality of my emerging day hits me. What if they depart from the train after me? What if I'm forced to get up from my seat before them, and move about my day as if we never encountered one another. The thought scares me in the most interesting way.
Churchill. My stop. I feel like my legs won't move. And I, for a brief second, consider leaving my pre determined day to follow them to their stop. But its brief. Fleeting. And possibly illegal. To be curious, I know. But the misconceptions of our world out weigh my sad little attempt at distraction.
Plus they're getting off at Churchill too. So all my panic and forethought was for nothing. Until they turn the opposite direction from me and are gone.
I cascade the mile of stairs into the sunshine and movement of downtown Edmonton, its placid cement. Still filled with regret for my sweater.