Taking the train is an adventure lately.

I got a notification on my phone yesterday that I should arrive at the station an hour earlier today than usual because of construction. This was, in fact, not true.

I received another notification on my phone this morning that gave a departure time an hour later than scheduled. I checked my account and it was, in fact, not leaving late.

The bus I normally take showed a detour that said it was skipping the railroad station stop. It did not, in fact, do so. The driver was absolutely marvelous and kind.

The ancient clock hanging from the lofty ceiling of the station showed a time a half hour later than it was, just as I was running to the bathroom. I checked my watch and no, I was on time.

The departure board that looms over the main part of the station went black. Nothing was affected otherwise. We all got in line and the train departed from the previously displayed gate as if nothing had happened.

I got a notification while in line to board that I had been upgraded to a business class seat for the tiny amount I bid for it. I took my new seat. The conductor scanned my ticket and couldn’t find it. I assumed I was going to get kicked out of my seat. She had, in fact, logged into the wrong train, and when she logged in correctly, there I was.

A family just paraded past at the next stop and I assumed one of them was going to sit in the empty seat next to me. They did not.

We are barreling along the tracks, heading for our destination past sparse weedy trees and the usual scattering of debris that lines the tracks, with the sun flickering over my hands as I type, and there is every possibility that I will continue to have one of those adventures written for young children in which bad things almost happen, but then they don’t after all.