It's raining, which means I can do one of two things. I can tell you about the events of my day, which were, admittedly, uneventful. Or I can tell you about how much I love the rain, how alive I feel watching it through an open window, how I'll dance with or without you.
No U2 reference intended.
I would run outside right now, but I have to work in the morning and I know that just being in the rain will wake me up to a point that sleep will become impossible tonight. I'll write feverishly, acknowleding the rain drying on my skin and tangled in my hair, and then it will be morning. I will have to dress appropriately, put on mascara, and sit at my desk typing number after number after number.
I know all these numbers. I know what they mean. I know what they do. They are not as interesting as the rain.
Maybe I should write, feverishly, of course. Last night I woke up at 2:00 in the morning, completely frustrated with a memory I couldn't answer. I couldn't remember a roommate's last name. I ran through every other roommate, without a hitch (maidens only--I'm completely lost when it comes to married names). I finally Googled.
Dear roommate. I couldn't remember your last name, but I knew your first, your employment, your current city. I googled you. Hello roommate.
It's not just raining. It's thunder and lightning and the kind of rain you turn the lights off to watch. The kind of rain you watch in silence, and, if there is another person in the room, you hope they understand the silence. I've been lucky enough to have friends who understand the silence.
Tonight I'm sitting away from my window, the lamp is on, and I'm listening to my iTunes on shuffle. Ingrid Michaelson's "Masochist," then Jack Black covering Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" (from High Fidelity), and now Feist's "Let It Die." Which is the song I was going to start with, so it must be meant to be. It sounds like rain.
When I was looking for the song on YouTube, there was video after video of girls wearing glasses, embracing their guitars, singing this song.
I am not one of them.
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4 comments:
I'd trade our snow for your rain. I used to love watching, from the 39th floor, the thunderstorms roll in from the north Texas plains from a hundred miles out . . .
Ooo, I love when my iPod does that. Yay!
for me, that song is one of those ones that captures the mystique of adult life, as seen through my own eyes when I was a kid. so tragically alluring.
I think at the very least the rain will inspire more brilliant writing...and that will mean that your thesis is closer to being finished which means you are closer to coming home.
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