Or on mt way to the con.

I was stressing. The morning of the first New York Special Edition was a very stressful beginning of the day. Even though I left with more than ample time, I should have realized that the trip to New York would be anything but easy, especially after what transpired a few days before.

Wednesday, three days before the New York Special Edition was to open, I had yet to purchase my train tickets to get me there. I stopped at Suburban Station to purchase them. Normally I just walk through the underground transportation center never stopping, not even for my choice of three different "Dunkin Donuts" locations I could buy coffee at. Today I needed too, I procrastinated enough. I made my way through the increasing morning crowd towards the ticket windows in the middle of the station.

Fortunately, the line was nonexistent, allowing this chore of the day to be short lived. I explained how I needed to get to New York from Torresdale Station in Northeast Philadelphia. I was charming, even delightful, so I was aghast when I asked for a round trip ticket to New York and I was told "no". Apparently she was able to sell me the regional rail tickets since SEPTA would be the beginning of my journey, but New Jersey Transit's computers were down and any tickets had to be purchased at a kiosk either at 30th street station, or on the day of the trip. I chose the day of the trip.

I should have realized at that moment things could get worse.

I woke up with my bag already packed and my Regional Rail tickets in my wallet along with my one day pass to the convention. I turned on my computer to get the weather of the day and found out a bit of news that I was forewarned about. SEPTA's regional rails went on strike.The tickets I had were now worthless. I had no way to get to Trenton to get on my train to New York. My best laid plans were torn asunder. I dressed and hurried out the door, deciding that I'd have to drive.

I chose Princeton since I thought it would be much better to park there than in Trenton and asked SIRI to take me there. I made it, with thirty minutes to spare, but something was wrong. It didn't feel right, where were the cars, the people? Even on Saturday this place should have been bustling. And then I figured it out. The GPS took me to Princeton Station, not Princeton Junction where I had to be. I hoped back into my car, asked for directions from some construction workers and headed on my way. My time was diminishing and the detour made it worse.

I arrived with 15 minutes to spare, parked the car, and made my way to the kiosk to buy my train ticket, but I still had to cross under the tracks and climb the stairs to wait. I found a seat on the platform, but I couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong. Eight minutes, seven minutes, and I thought, what if I didn't lock the car door? I knew I DID lock the door, but what if I didn't? I headed back to the car to check and found out that even on Saturday you had to pay for parking...and I was in the wrong lot. Five minutes.

On my way back to my car was a cop. I asked him where was the "non-permit" parking lot. I got back in my car, moved it, and parked again. Thankfully the same cop didn't pull me over as I sped past him. Two minutes. I rushed to get my parking permit and placed it on my dash, grabbed my stuff and ran for the train. I heard the whistle blow. It was coming closer. I reached the underpass, the stairs, and the platform as the train arrived. I was frustratingly out of breath, but I made it. I picked a seat and sighed, heavily. I was on my way.

But, was it worth it? And why title my 600th journal "Brain Paste"?

Thanks for Reading

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