Forty-seven extraordinarily rare and precious moments, without the continuous ringing of the phone, the predictable work "emergencies," and the hungry cries of my little one - nothing but forty-seven beautiful moments of solitude with only the rhythmic clicking of the train's iron wheels. Forty-seven minutes.
And no pen.
My phone is smiling at me with only one line of battery power indicator, barely enough for an emergency call. My BlackBerry, that despicable device that controls my days and ruins my weekends, is hanging on its charger in my kitchen.
But I do have a piece of paper - a winkled receipt from Whole Foods, actually - and a black eye liner I sharpened just a few days ago. And so it goes. This story and then three-hundred more words. And a completely blunt eye liner.
Forty-seven beautiful (and lucky) moments.