Glove, actually

Though I had a sneaking suspicion I'd lose one if I took them to the laundry, I decided to wash my black gloves with the other clothes. Damn it.

In other news, tonight on my way home from work, a track fire caused the 2 train to have "heavy delays." During one of said delays, which lasted at least 15 minutes, I was overcome by the sort of fatigue that fellow insomniacs know all too well. Standing, my hand sandwiched uncomfortably between a pole and a man's back, I realized that perhaps the toughest thing about moving to a new city -- aside from the sharp pain of missing those I love and the shortage of hugs -- is having no one to lean on.

I don't mean "lean on" in a "seek emotional support from" way, necessarily. I mean that momentary transfer of weight from me to someone physically stronger, broader, more stable. I think cats feel this same urge when they press their little foreheads against you and let their bodies collapse in relief.

For just a second or two tonight, I longed to ask the tall stranger ahead of me if I could lean my forehead against his well-padded shoulder. But that probably would have been inappropriate.