My Head is in aisle 8, bottom shelf next to the cake mix

I woke up like a flaring python today, the type in Indiana Jones where you play a flute and the snake comes dancing out of a wicker basket, whoa honey!

Having just got off a 3 day weekend and loving the freedom, the shackles of my reality were freshly placed on my wrists as my alarm jarred me out of bed this morning. Yeah, I'm being a tad dramatic, but man, it took me a while to shake this off.

I'm on my way home right now, typing on a blackberry sweating amongst 100 or so strangers, looks as if there is a Cubs games tonight, I see a lot of fans adorned in the franchise regalia. As a commuter this is really the pits. Me heading home with the mind set of relaxation, amongst these sporting folk who are filled with excitement of home runs, chewing tobacco and corn dogs. I can't blame em.  If I was wearing a numbered shirt with another person's name on it, I'd be animated to. That's what fans need to be, Big, Loud and obnoxious. "Come on ump! That was a strike...get your eyes checked!" Or " why did you swing at that? my grandma has better instincts". Unfortunately if I were present my chants would probably sound more like "hey grounds keeper, you call that green grass, try some fertilizer,  $9.99 at Menards yah idiot".

A quiet submissive fan is not what you wanna be, so how can I fault these folks. We just happen to be completely different people who for the moment are sharing a common course. Ok, I can roll with that, I'll remind myself of this the next time I find myself on a 45 min hot box train amongst Cubs fan discussing pitching arm, catcher squat position and which beer tub hottie to harass.