Traffic islands

I keep finding myself in the middle of busy streets, in that fake-safe point on the yellow line between two different traffic directions. I realized last week when I was with F at the university, I keep putting myself into the middle of the street so I can cut across the parking lot to get back to the library -- going to either traffic light seems like an insufferable burden, a waste of precious time. I keep doing that on spadina, too, have become one of those people pushing my way through traffic, perching on the little ledge that separates the streetcar lanes from the cars, darting like frogger between vehicles.

That I've noticed this repeatedly lately tells me something -- some new level of impatience, feeling pushed, no time, dashing from one place to the next. This week, I'm bloody tired, and "technically," there's no reason to be -- I've been sleeping a reasonable amount, am just WORKING, really. But just... no restorative time, and never ever getting to the one thing that's hanging over me, the pilot. So I cross streets in the dangerous middle, find myself hovering in suspension between here and there, never getting there fast enough.

April is busy. I'm peering over the hedgerows to the end, really needing breathing space.