I knew it would happen eventually.
After one year and two weeks of regular train riding, a perfect storm of factors fell into place on the 8:43 this morning and I fell asleep for the first time on my commute, drifting off somewhere around 125th and waking up just before we docked in Grand Central.
I’m not against sleeping on the train; in fact, I think it’s a great way to pass the time and catch up on sleep on those days when Little G thinks 5:55 a.m. is the perfect time to get up and re-enact the tractor-tipping scene from Cars with Matchbox cars. But for whatever reason, mostly centering around my general state of low-level anxiety in crowded spaces, I’d been unable to do so thus far.
But everything came together today. It being the 8:43, it wasn’t very quiet. No one on my car yapped into their phone. The train was way overheated, those Sox games have been ending around midnight, and those Bose ‘phones did their noise-cancelling trick. Next thing I knew, I was out.
Let’s hope it’s not another 54 weeks before I sleep on Metro-North again.