Forgetting one's phone means a 1-way trip into GO train commuter hell complete with Satan and her peanut butter complex

I fell into a pit of commuter hell this morning. I don't know how it happened. Here's how my morning typically goes down:

Alarm 5:10 am
Alarm 5:22 am
Alarm 5:29 am

Alar--- OKAY. I'm up.

Shower. Shower. Shampoo. Shampoo. Dry. Dry. Wake up kid. Wake up kid. WAKE UP KID.

Brush teeth. Dry hair. Style hair. Style hair. Styl--- fuck it. Wear hair up in a twist.

Make-up. Okay, a little more make-up. Earrings. Watch.

Make the be--- nope.

Say goodbye to husband and kid. Grab protein bar, pear and fibre bar.

Put on shoes. Put on coat. Check for Presto card. Grab purse. Lock door. Walk to bus.

Get on bus. Open purse. Take out headphones. Take out phone ... Take... out ... wha? --- What the hell?!!

I forgot my damn phone! My mornings are all about routine. I don't know what the hell happened.

I read both the Metro and 24HR newspapers in five minutes (Bieber sucked on a stripper nipple apparently on Saturday night) and by the time we pulled into Whitby, I was positive I was going to lose my mind.

I was sitting in the lower level only because I usually meet up with a friend who didn't show this morning and didn't think to make my way up to the Quiet Zone. My friend and I only chat quietly for about 10 minutes before she lapses into a coma and I start into whatever episode of a series I am currently watching (the Good Wife at the moment).

At Ajax I wound up seated beside a woman who talked on her phone the whole train ride. The train was packed. I was stuck.

It was hell. I fell into commuter hell. I swear if hell exists, hell is being on a GO Train stuck beside a woman who tells the entire coach about her whole weekend while philosophizing about why she was so tired and that a cigar is just a cigar. I couldn't give a single crap about how long she could jump rope for or that her six-year old has figured out that nobody's perfect which in her mind means he's going to be a genius when he grows up. No fucks were given about her cold, the latte she had at Starbucks on Saturday (made with soy! and it was delicious!) that she got her hair done or that her mother makes her own fucking peanut butter in a coffee grinder. Oh, but she's not sure if her mother roasts the peanuts beforehand or not. Ten minutes alone was spent discussing the fact that peanut butter is not available in Russia and that this woman went 26 years before she ever tasted peanut butter. How the fuck any of this was worthy of 40 minutes of time on a morning train, I don't fucking know. No one else is talking. She is the only person talking and for some reason thinks we all care about her inability to do no more than six push-ups in a row.

When the train pulled into Union, I was up and off it in record time. I couldn't stand one more minute of that mind-numbing conversation.

It was later that I realized this woman must have some kind of reputation because when she got on and slid herself into the window seat beside me, the woman sitting across from that seat jumped up like her ass was on fire and ran - ran all the way upstairs.

I should have followed her.