I must be dreaming

When the conversations at work inevitably turn to commuting woes, I often try to steer it back to current WTA standings, historical Cub's batting averages, or last night's production of The Pearl Fishers at the Lyric. Failing that, I generally fall silent. I never have much to add.

Of course, a one-hour ride on the train is accepted as routine. This is often in addition to a 15- or 20-minute dive to the station, combined with a 10- or 15 minute walk to the office. Typical.

Well, my short walk in the morning is not always as nice as it sounds. Many, many times in the years I've lived downtown, I've jolted myself awake with only 12 or 15 minutes before I need to be at work. Never one to back down from a challenge, the elevator instantly becomes my walk-in closet. A dash over the river and up Franklin, and I am at my desk just in time.

Here's the issue: my thoughts remain sleep-cloudy and dreamlike. Critical retention is impossible in this state. The coordination of typing, the act of placing a phone call, the morning mechanics of social interaction, all seem unfamiliar and require extra focus and concentration. With ambient morning temperatures, usually 58-76 degrees F, this effect is intensified.

For someone who appreciates the pleasures of lounging around, with coffee flowing and the FT Weekend ceremoniously unfurled all Saturday morning, the contrast is especially painful.

The Metra commuters just don't understand.