Every day my inbound commute involves packed or never-arriving trains or the insufficient alternative--a shuttle. Packed shuttles, caught-in-traffic shuttles, shuttles smelling faintly of urine mixed with a hasty spray of Lysol, the whole lot.

It's sad, but you kind of get used to the torture and accept being really late and go about your business and try not to freeze to death.

But I've noticed there is always some guy--always older, always white, always tall, always underdressed for the weather--getting irrationally mad, incensed, screaming at people who have no control over the situation.

Waiting to get on a shuttle last night, one guy shouts above the din, "I've been walking back and forth out here for ten fucking minutes! COME on!" For a spot-on rendition of what he sounded like, see below.

I'm happy to change the name of the site back to "Mustard Stains." Gives the reader a mildly gross, repellent first impression. Perfect.

My first blog post ever was in 2011. I remember being terrified to post it. The link was hidden in my G-chat profile, and I wrote about work and Pinterest and over-sharing on Facebook. I was afraid people would view me as a giant dork for having a blog in the first place. I was afraid they might think it was too aimless and uninteresting.

I would love to say I've gotten over that complex, but I have not.

In the years since, I no longer hate my job and I am not so lost (though I still think most people who post on Facebook are narcissistic assholes, and I've come to the not-novel conclusion that working is for the birds).

I tried writing fiction and it's hard. You can't be snarky and talk shit about people because you're supposed to make them up.

I still write though, always in secret--always holed up--shooing Mike away so he can't see. I wrote a little story and gave it to my Mom and because I know it's crap she politely said she "hasn't gotten around to reading the rest." I thought at least she would rip into me for overusing the words "just" and "some" as modifiers, or ask me, "What's with the resentment towards mother figures?!" but she's been a little preoccupied.

Those insidious little fuckers have been busy invading and spreading into her bones and her organs (again). She's a badass, though. Still refusing to allow people to feel bad for her, still refusing to allow anyone to drive to chemo treatments (we can accompany her, but she drives. She's insane.)

I had forgotten what the impetus had been for starting a blog four years ago. I knew I had to cobble together writing samples for applying to grad school (client emails full of drivel weren't going to cut it). Then I remembered. It was after reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, my favorite book (yes the first chapter is thoroughly depressing and overall, it's manic). I recommend it to anyone who enjoys laughing through snots and tears, Or anyone whose parents are dead or dying. Sorry to be blunt, but it's true.

Anyhooters, that's all for today. I hope you've been properly repelled.