The rain.

It's been busy lately, for reasons I won't go into yet. Today is a beautiful, warm, quiet, rainy day. the rain is pressing into the trees and the ground, resulting in a continuous gentle fall of leaves. It really is beautiful. I think I'll go take a video. Or I would, if I knew where I had put my camera.

Last night as I drove out to dinner I looked up and saw the autumn leaves swirling in the wind and dancing down through the darkening sky, and it nearly took my breath away.

A shiny bagel

I just took Miley for a walk in the cold October rain, and she swerved crazily as I skipped (no, really) along down the gleaming street. I began to sing to myself (as is my custom), but remembered when I failed to hit a high note that I am still recovering from laryngitis, and fell silent for the rest of the hop-skip back to the house. A few blocks shy of home, Miley suddenly dragged me fifteen feet backward through the rain, then stopped, sniffed, and carefully picked up twice-bitten bagel in her teeth. I laughed, and watched her gently carry it home; watched her jump up on the bed and excitedly show it around; watched her hurl herself around the living room with excitement over her bagel.

It was silly and sweet, and we all giggled at her bagel-induced glee. But then suddenly, for a moment, the bagel became to me a slew, a whole genre of precious moments. The finding of the bagel became every miraculous moment that suddenly shines up out of the rain, out of the drainage ditch, and fills us with crazy, ecstatic, inexplicable glee.

So sappy, I know. So sickly sweet. But I thought it, so I wrote it. Message in a bottle, and all that.

The weather, and my decision-making process.

This evening I walked Miley in a misting rain--barely even a drizzle--underneath a depthless grey-blue sky that faded to pink as it neared the Southern horizon. I realized suddenly that night has been falling sooner, and that made me smile. I looked up as I passed beneath the streetlight, and remembered that there are few things I love more than watching rain or snow filter through the glow of street lamps. It's nearly the only thing they're good for, if you ask me.


I've been working myself into a panic over this mentoring decision I've been trying to (or trying not to) make--to be, or not to be one? I had a couple of bad experiences--nothing traumatic, just stressful and frustrating pairings girls who ended up being less invested in the program than expected--and essentially quit. I've still been attending the odd large-group meeting, but that's all. Recently I was asked to mentor a great girl that I've known for a while, who will almost certainly be more into the whole thing than those I worked with before. (Just so we're clear, all three of the young women I have been paired with in the past are pretty great. Just not that interested in having a mentor, as it turned out.) But still, rather than just say "yes" or "no," I freaked out. This seems to be my m.o. whenever I'm asked to make a decision based solely (or nearly so) on nothing but my own opinions and feelings. My mind likes to work with facts, so here is the conversation I have with myself when asked to mentor:
"Last time it sucked." (-1 to mentoring.)
"But this is a different person." (Possible +1 to mentoring.)
"But the time before that wasn't great either." (-1 to mentoring.)
"But this time might be better." (Possible +1 to mentoring.)
"But it might suck again." (Possible -1 to mentoring.)
"But she was the first one to get her paperwork in!" (+1 to mentoring.)
"Well how do you feel about it?"
Panic and aversion. -1 to mentoring.
But said panic/aversion is illogical. Disregard.

Calculating: 0 -1+1-1+1-1+1=0. Need more data.

Data unavailable.

Does not compute. Enter inability-to-make-decisions panic mode; shut down.

At this point I push the whole thing from my mind until someone asks me again, at which point I reenter panic mode. Anyway, I said I'd do it. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

May showers

The longer I live here (and I've nearly always lived here) the more I come to understand the comments of some friends who visited from Arizona, years and years ago: "It's like a jungle." I love the cool wet air of springtime in the evenings, and I love the eternally dripping trees during our month of rain. I love the stereophonic chorus of frogs peeping and croaking happily in the wet. I love the green light that fills the space below the trees, and I love the way the branches of some arch up into a glorious and expansive chlorophyll-ceilinged cathedral. I love the evening sun glowing orange-red through the clouds that gather around the Western horizon, and I love its light shining against those in the East. I love the way solid cloud cover seems to pull the world in close--the way, walking in the evening, the soundscape is suddenly so much richer. Sounds that would float up into a clear sky now swirl through the trees. Frogs sing and birds chatter, car doors close and water bubbles down the creek bed, and thunder rumbles in the distance as I leave the house; cracks and splits the sky open as I make my way back home through the thickening rain. As I pass the creek, church bells chime a mile down the road, and the sweet sound wanders down into the valley to meet me.

From Firefox, for a change.

I had forgotten about the storms forecast for tonight, and Miley and I stepped out into a drizzle and walked through the gently growing rain. We went down to the creek, and it sounded like summertime. The water was swollen with the beginnings of its wet season wealth, and I could hear a frog calling a little up the way. Miley splashed through the stream and I remembered again how much I love the sound of feet walking through water.

We left the woods after a few minutes and walked on up the street, and I loved the rainy midnight shine of porch light on slate walk. I loved the cool-not-coldness of the air and the raindrops. And now I'm exhausted, and still have not done laundry. And won't. Goodnight.

Rain.

It rained all night and has rained all of today, and it is wonderful. It is a beautiful, soft, gentle rain. I've been house sitting for Sara's parents this week, and not much of interest has happened that I wanted to talk about here, so if anyone has been frustrated with the lack of communication (doubtful), then that's why. But this rain--I've left the sliding door in the kitchen open all day to let the fresh air in, and gone wandering barefoot in the back yard a few times. There's a pretty excellent puddle down at the other end of the house. And the small fishless fish pond at the corner of the patio is filled right up to the brim, with the water gently lapping against the moss that grows around the edge. It is lovely. I can't even tell you how much I love the sound of my feet stepping into the water, by the way--the excellent puddle or the little pond. It is a gorgeous sound, and it sounds like summer evenings at the swim hole in the mountains. This one:

Here, now, open.

So I had that weepy-and-intense religious experience the other night, and then not much. I've thought about it some. I still have a hard time getting the whole relationship thing. I can barely have relationships with people--and now you're asking me to have one with some invisible, uncontainable, indefinable higher being? Yeah. I'll get right on that.


Tonight I was walking Miley, and talking to her about how I was sorry but I couldn't walk in the grass in the rain because I was wearing decidedly not-waterproof boots, and then I realized that if I consider myself a Christian and I can talk to a dog, it's stupid for me to go around telling myself I have nothing to say to God. So. "I don't really feel like I have anything to say to you, but I guess if I can talk to Miley, I don't really have any good excuse not to talk to you." And on from there.


Then, as I approached our driveway, I suddenly remembered that almost every single night for months I have walked Miley and missed having someone to talk to. That's sort of new. I've almost always enjoyed the peace and quiet of walks, and definitely not wished for conversational company. In fact, I have often discouraged other people from walking with me.

It used to be that my prayer time, when I had prayer time, was in the shower. Not particularly for any reason I could discern except that people tend to be more emotional when they're relaxed, and hot water is relaxing, and I knew no one was going to bother me or see or hear me and so I didn't have to feel so guarded. It's not like I ever planned it.

Before that, during my first, horrible encounter with major depression, when I had no experience and no one I trusted and no coping mechanisms to deal with it, late-night walks with Little Bit were my refuge. I never wanted to take them. I fought it tooth and nail. But it was my turn and my parents made me. And most times I ended up stumbling forward, streaming tears, talking to God and begging for a friend or a way out. And eventually, and little by little, I got one. So.


Have you been calling me?

And I'm sorry I haven't picked up. I guess, in my dream, I didn't realize what I was hearing--just like an alarm clock that makes itself a part of the dream until you recognize what you're hearing, and put it together, and rise to consciousness. But I think I'm awake now, and I'm trying really hard to stay awake. Not go sleepwalking through my life. Not wishing I were somewhere else. Not holding my breath. Not barring the door and leaning against it with all my might. I want to be here. Now. Open.

Snow.

There seems to be a lot of it going around. We had some tonight, and as I was mentally composing bits and pieces of this post I realized that I wanted to call tonight's snow heavy, and I also wanted to call it light. I decided that each descriptor was accurate, as they (sort of) apply to different aspects of said precipitation. The flakes were large and wet -> heavy. The flakes were large and caught the air to provide that great floaty, spinny effect -> light. It looked so gorgeous, so romantic. The descriptive phrases I came up with tended to be less romantic. Example: the way the snow floated so gently down, it looked like particulate matter suspended in a liquid. Candlelit supper worthy, I know.

But speaking of particulate matter, I love the way such light, slow-falling flakes provide a perfect visual aide to the wind, and show every swirl, gust, and riffle in the air. I loved the way the snow fell beneath street lamps, and I especially loved the way it swirled and spiraled down onto the steeple floodlights of the church I passed on the way home tonight. My favorite, though, was when a light shone straight into the branches of a small tree, and I could watch the slow snow settle gently down through the branches.


Unfortunately, wet snow is much prettier from the car. Once I was outside in it again it sounded and felt like a sullen, lead-footed rain. Tonight when I walked Miley the rain (all that was left of the former snowglory) had essentially stopped, and the damp wind made the night feel significantly colder than 39 degrees. I buried my chin and walked on, and spent very little time looking at a sky which was the color of stomach acid adulterated with varying amounts of charcoal.


But the key point here is that the snow was super pretty. It was. Ok, sleep time. (Showers? Who needs 'em?)

The State of My Subconscious Address.

Obama's address made me want to cry at a few points. In a good way. Being fairly uneducated when it comes to matters of politics, I am a little suspicious of any politician and always slightly worried that I'm being taken for a fool. Even so, I am one of those that tend to find Obama's addresses pretty inspiring. I was reminded of the "Fireside Talks" of the Roosevelt era. I like that we have a president who is encouraging us to unite as a country and appreciate what we have and who we are and what we stand for, and I like that we have a president who is, as far as I can tell, trying to get congress to cut the crap. For example: I know there are differences of opinion about earmarks, but I think that they're a terrible idea. For one thing, they allow candidates to run misleading negative ads about each other, because that bill that cut spending to schools might have also included tighter gun controls. I don't like that congressmen and -women are always having to choose the lesser of two evils, and prioritize the importance of all the issues in a bill. Even if it takes more time, I think that as much as possible, each issue should get a separate vote.


As a separate note, a staunch Republican (one who said in the comments on her own status message regarding Obama's address, "I can't like him and I think he is very bad for this country,") just "liked" my current facebook status: "No more earmarks? Living within our means? Making rich people pay taxes? THIS IS CRAZY TALK." I guess maybe my sarcasm wasn't loud enough. Just goes to show that, as they say, body language and vocal tone are the better part of communication.






On another note, it was overcast last night. Sometimes when I go walk Miley on nights like that, I tuck my chin and let my eyes droop and shuffle through, and see nothing. Sometimes instead I pay more attention to the things around me. I hear the way the roof of cloud holds in the sounds of the city, and listen to the jet in the distance and the cars on nearby streets, and hear every crunching leaf, and every jingle of Miley's collar. I look up and see the intricate pattern the fingers of the trees make against the sky, and notice the thin places in the cloud cover, where the sky looks as though it were sponge painted by the mighty and invisible hand of God. I gaze up at the single star shining through, and I turn the corner toward home.

For the last two or three nights (or maybe the last two before last night), the moon has looked as though, in crossing above the horizon, it rose through a deep pool of honey*. The honey color fell away as it rose higher into the night. Fell back into the sea beyond the end of the world, I guess.

I realized this evening that, living in a house, it is easy to forget the sound of a rain in a wood. It is a wonderful noise, and it is different from the sound of rain in a city or rain on a roof, and as it is also different from the sound of rain on an umbrella, an umbrella ruins it. It is a more dimensional, delicate, full sound than those, and if you are lucky enough to stand next to a creek during a gentle rain, you'll hear (or I hope you'll hear) a sweeter sound there, too. The creek might have swollen just a little, and the drops of rain landing on the water add still another element to the sweeping, rushing, happy gurgle of the stream.

Relatedly, I have remembered something I wanted to say earlier today: my absolutely most favorite sport ever in the whole world by far is umbrella jumping. I am reasonably certain that this doesn't exist, partially because umbrellas aren't usually built very well and largely because it almost certainly breaks some laws of physics (or at least meteorology on Earth), but every once in a while I get lucky enough to do it in my dreams. This happened last night, and let me tell you, it is so awesome. You get your (well made) umbrella and you wait for a really kick-ass wind or rain or thunder storm**, and you open your umbrella, and you go for a run. And you jump off things. And you jump over things or just up into the air and catch the lift of the wind with your umbrella like a kite. And you contort yourself to make it over things or just for fun, and you push off the sides of buildings and fling yourself from rooftops and laugh and spin and do acrobatics with the wind and rain in your face.*** If I get to design my own little corner of heaven (and God, I hope I do), it may mostly be like this.














































*I remember the very first time I saw a moon like this. I was very young, younger than five I think, and I was sitting on a plastic tricycle on the sidewalk in front of a relative's house in North Carolina. Within five minutes of seeing the moon (I can't remember whether it was before or after), I skinned my toe on the concrete. I never did like shoes very much. Anyway, I had heard the term "honeymoon" and not known the meaning, and as soon as I saw the honey-colored moon I connected the two. For years I tried to reconcile the "post-wedding" aspect of a honeymoon with the moon I had seen. Were people only allowed to get married on the day preceding a honey moon? Did a honey moon happen after people's weddings? How did it know? And which people got one? Obviously it didn't happen after every wedding. Did those people not get honey moons, or was there some kind of fake one? That didn't seem fair. How were the lucky ones chosen?

It was a long time before I gave up on this doomed line of reasoning, and longer still before I found out that the honey color was and is caused by the moon reflecting the light of a sunset in some faraway land.

**If you aren't touching the ground, you don't conduct the electricity. So there.

***And then you go make out with a famous rap artist whose name you won't be able to remember the next morning. That last part is really a shame, too, because you're supposed to go on tour with him next week.

I'm doing all right.

I want a rainbow raincoat, with the colors bleeding down into one another in rings until, at the bottom, purple. I want a white umbrella that I can paint with raindrops and sunshine. I want bare feet and warm puddles and distant thunder and, after nightfall, a crescendo of fireflies glittering across the fields and up into the full, luscious trees under a royal blue-black sky.

I guess I can wait, though. Afternoons of grey skies and chill wind and freezing rain have their place. And I felt so much joy, driving home after tutoring tonight, that I laughed aloud and nearly wept.




I don't love any of the videos of it, but despite my strong issues with smoking, I do love this song. Can't help it.





A quote posted by a facebook friend: "He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart." -C.S. Lewis. I have no idea whether Lewis actually said/wrote this, but I hope so.



Song I was listening to when suddenly smitten with a wave of nearly overwhelming joy:



I've been on a little bit of a country kick lately. Don't judge me.

Observations on a Sunday

Today, this morning at church, was one of those days when I realize how truly closed off I am. When I get a bit of a backed-up view of myself. I am imperfect. I am solitary and self-centered. I feel like I want to reach out and be a part of a community, but when it comes down to it, I start to dislike anyone that I suddenly feel obligated to talk to. I am a lot of contradictory things. But it's alright. I mean, it isn't alright forever. It isn't something about which I should be complacent. But I am not beyond repair. Not beyond love.



Last night around 11, my mother put a pan of the sweet rolls into the oven to see how they would turn out. Answer: heavenly. We think that this was due in part to the fact that they had been rising for an extremely long time. All day yesterday, and for quite a while the day they were made. (In between they had been in the refrigerator downstairs.) I ate too many, mainly because it seemed like a sin to let so many of them sit and get cold and be eaten later in such a decidedly inferior state. They are small, but still, we each had at least two.


Written last night, after the sweet rolls and before bed:
Hartley gave me a ride home from babysitting tonight, due to the light, cool rain, and I am sorry that I accepted it. People think me eccentric when I do things like refusing rainy rides home [and I suppose they have a right], but that's okay. I was thinking at the time that I'd have to (get to?) walk Miley anyway, and that I didn't have a hat, and I was giving in to the soft peer pressure of friends who couldn't imagine my wanting to walk home.
I got here, and Jack ribbed me a little about it--"She specifically asked for you by name"--but it soon came out that he had just taken her.
I complain often about having to walk Miley every night before bed, rain or shine, in sickness or in health...but tonight I am forced to admit that I feel lost without my usual dose of cool midnight air, wet or not. I went and stood under the sky for a few minutes in my nightshirt and sweats and decidedly not-waterproof slippers, but it wasn't quite the same.

Today has been lovely.

I woke up to the rain.


I knew when I heard it that the rain was falling into my missing car window, but this area was cleaned out and not cushioned, so I didn't really care. Eventually I got up and put a piece of canvas, anchored with a split log, over the hole, but mostly this morning I lay in bed and dozed to the rainfall, guiltless, knowing that I couldn't drive anywhere without soaking the entire interior of my car. It was lovely.

Eventually the rain stopped and my uncle called with a new (to me) window from the junkyard in hand and a directive to make my way immediately to the auto glass guys. Timing was important, as this installation was to take place outside. The rain made it a no-go for a while. Why did my uncle pick up this glass for me? Partly because I didn't have the tools to remove it myself, and partly because he is an angel. So is the guy at the auto glass place, whom I had met before and whom I really like. A lot. I guess he's in his fifties or so (I am awful at guessing ages, truly), and has the kindest face and manner I think I have seen. Not that I haven't met other friendly people, but at S S Auto I actually feel at ease, and that's saying something. Anyway I think he shouldn't really have installed my window because he's a dealer, not an installer, but again: angel. The whole thing took less than an hour, and since the new window has an antenna in it, my radio reception has improved dramatically.

I went home for an hour and sorted Phase 10 cards for my tutoring session at four, then made my way over. Today we played Go Fish with the 1-9 phase 10 cards. My student doesn't have good number recognition at this point, but she can count, so I made a chart on the dry erase board I had brought. I wrote the numbers 1-9, and then underneath drew a corresponding number of dots. When she came upon a number she didn't know, she could find it on the board and count the dots to figure out what it was, or if she knew she wanted a "7" and didn't know what a seven looked like, she could count dots until she came up with seven, and find the corresponding number. Five year olds are pretty distractible, but otherwise it worked well. We also began to make our way through the alphabet, sorting through the Scrabble Slam cards I bought last night and finding A, then B, then C, etc, and then practicing writing them on the dry erase board. Again, she (like any kid her age) has a very short attention span, but otherwise it went well. We worked a little bit on phonics too, using the board and the Scrabble cards, and she sounded out and spelled "sun" (she had been drawing one and it's a simple word, so I went with it), and then she sounded out the word "swamp," which I had written. I think she (mostly) had fun, because at the end she gave me a strand of green Mardi Gras beads, "so we can be best friends."

<3

From thence I finally went to the bank to deposit checks, and on my way home David texted me asking if I wanted to have lunch tomorrow. (Earlier in the week I had asked if he wanted to meet up next week to trade his book--which I've had for months--for the mixed cd his brother John made for me but didn't quite get delivered this weekend. I  said next week because I wasn't sure how this week would go with trying to get my window fixed before leaving for MD.) Clearly that wouldn't be possible, so we had dinner tonight instead at Ellwood Thompson's hot bar. Have I mentioned how much I love this store? I really, really do. I should shop there more. From their hot bar tonight I gathered, among other things, real mashed potatoes, cider braised chicken, collard greens cooked with ham, ratatouille, and cassoulet. Holy crap, is cassoulet delicious. Usually I only get it at Christmas when one of my aunts makes it--or when I eat at the E.T. hot bar. And all of their food is made from real ingredients, by hand, in their store. Much, if not all, of it is organic, and they have a selection of vegan food as well, and a salad bar (which I missed out on tonight because I ran out of plate space before I remembered that it was there), and even some "plant food untouched by fire" for people who go in for that sort of thing.

Cassoulet!

The dinner was nice. The cd is awesome so far.

Somehow I was still hungry after eating this giant plate of food (I feel like this has been happening a lot lately, despite the fact that I haven't been eating much during the day so really my stomach should be smaller), so after we left I attraversato...d* the parking lot to visit the Ellwood Cafe in hopes of finding some iced cream.** Luckily I was stymied, and instead found a large cup of ambrosia hot chocolate and a warmed pumpkin muffin to go. Thursdays are open mic nights, and when I walked in two men were singing a really great version of "Only Living Boy in New York." It was pretty magical. So were the hot chocolate and pumpkin muffin.

I worked a little after this, the heat gun died, I drove home magically not cold in the cold night air and my cosy blue two-sizes-too-big cashmere sweater with the windows open, listening to my new mixed cd. It was lovely.



Tomorrow: Brunch/lunch with Anna (and people I don't know)! Driving to Maryland! Dinner with Jill (and people I don't know)! I am looking forward to these things. Should be lovely.



























*For some reason I was thinking here of the Eat, Pray, Love moment during which E. Gilbert discusses her favorite Italian word, which is similar to that which I have typed and which means "let's cross over." Don't judge me.

*Which was ridiculous, because it was about 53 degrees and misty outside.

God is in the rain.*

I so love the rain, though I am beginning to suspect that I may be suffering from a little bit of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Or hormones. Either way.

But I love the rain, and falling asleep to the rain, and waking up to the rain. Rain, rain, rain.



Rain.

















*Quoted from "V for Vendetta," which may very well have gotten it from somewhere else.

I like watching the puddles gather rain*.

I forgot at least half of what I was going to say because I came in from the rain and got sidetracked writing a never-to-be-sent letter and falling asleep on my notebook, but earlier we had a small surprise (to me) thunderstorm, and I stood outside in it getting wet and thinking about rain and wind and trees and seasons and how everything I freaking do when I'm acting consciously and not out of the heat or frost of emotion (and even some of what I do when I am) is about love. Wanting it, holding it, giving it, reaching for it or pushing it away. It seems to be the sun about which I fitfully orbit.

I went outside to close the car windows wearing the no shoes and the soccer shorts and tank top that seem to have become my uniform of late. I ended up squatting on my heels on our front walk and watching the newly fallen leaves gather tiny rain puddles while the grass and weeds and dirt soaked up the probably last warm storm of the summer. I watched cars drive by with their windows closed and headlights and wipers on in the glorious warm afternoon and not see me. I watched the trees stand planted, bowing their arms and raising their faces in gratitude to the rain. Eventually the raindrops gathered and ran down our street in warm rivers, or lay in small warm puddles in the empty driveway across the street. From there our house seems completely dwarfed by the pines and holly and poplar which tower over it, taller than any others on our block. It's funny to think of so much life happening in so small a space.

I thought also about the ways rain can feel. I mean, today I just wanted to stand in it and listen to the water falling and trees talking, thunder spreading across the sky and wind breathing through the trees, and feel the drops sliding down my face and trickling down my chest, and step on the wet grass and into the warm puddles and rivers. It felt like such a blessing. It reminded me of the feeling of a dam breaking, the feeling of a cleansing flood that I had once upon waking from a real night's sleep after weeks of insomnia. It felt like peace and breathing.
But other times, when I've been cold inside, I have stood in the rain wanting to be washed away, angry that the drops were so gentle. When I've been angry I have hated the peace of the summer rain. The spin put on the world by human emotion can be truly awe-inspiring.










*Blind Melon, "No Rain":

And all I can say is that my life is pretty plain. I like watching the puddles gather rain. And all I can do is just pour some tea for two, and speak my point of view, but it's not sane. I just want someone to say to me, "I'll always be there when you wake." You know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today, so stay with me and I'll have it made. And I don't understand why I sleep all day, and I start to complain that there's no rain. And all I can do is read a book to stay awake, and it rips my life away, but it's a great escape...

Dinner

Today Anna Sullivan asked me how I was doing. I was floored, and touched, to hear that a person (slightly to the left of acquaintance on the friend-stranger spectrum) from college is still curious and caring and being wonderful now, over a week after the breakup, when it feels like everyone but me has moved on. Slightly later she asked me whether I liked living with my parents. The answer was "sometimes." Being here can be comforting and familiar and easy, but sometimes it's hard to breathe, like sharing the air in a closed room. I want my own air.

Tonight I met David for dinner in Fredericksburg. I wasn't sure whether it would be a good idea or a disaster. I'm not sure now whether it was one or the other, neither, or both. I met him at the river, which I never once visited as a student. It's flooded and beautiful, mystifying and frightening. The sun was setting and it was windy, and I was cold and in awe, watching waves so like the ones that nearly killed me once, and reflecting on the experience. We tried a new restaurant, a mediocre Thai place with very nice waitresses, and then wandered around my old campus, because I missed it. We went back to my car and said goodnight, and I wanted to kiss him, and knew I shouldn't, and he wouldn't. He left at 9:30. I sat in my car and cried like a crazy person for thirty minutes before texting Anna Tuckweiller, because I cannot bring myself to call people when I am in a state. Every car that passed or drove nearby was like a razor, because every car was not David's, because David was not coming back, because David is not my boyfriend, and David will probably not be my boyfriend, and David will probably learn to love someone else. Those, particularly the last one, kept (and keep) hitting me over and over like so many ocean waves, with the tide coming in. Luckily Anna is wonderful and called me and talked to me until I could breathe, until I could keep my eyes clear enough to drive, and almost all the way home. She is one of the wisest and most loving people that I know.

I feel like a divorcee. Sometimes I even find myself missing the ring that was never on my finger. I feel mostly okay, and then fall apart at unexpected times. This sadness though is different from any other that I can remember experiencing. It's not like any other sadness I've ever felt. Every other time I've been depressed, it has been capital-D Depression, and I've been terrified. It's like falling down a bottomless hole, or accidentally driving off a precipice. Sometimes it makes me feel like Prometheus, chained to the rock, waiting for Ethon to tear him open again and again and again. This is qualitatively different. I'm terribly sad, and things hurt a lot, but in a way, it's ok. I know that this is a time for me to be sad, and I know that things will be better again, and life will go on. Even though right now I find it painful to consider any of the possibilities that the future holds for me or for David, I know that it will get easier. Where living with depression is like driving along and knowing that at some point you're going to drive over a cliff (but not knowing when or where, and not being able to stop or change course), this is more like driving through a thunderstorm. I know the rain will stop someday. I know the clouds will clear.

Bendy pencils, shankless tothbrushes, and rain.

That pretty much sums up my day, I guess. I felt/am feeling pretty good, but it's a strange "pretty good"--I don't know. A not that great pretty good? I feel great but am thinking negatively or something. But this morning my mom made some Turkish tea, which I drank before/on the way to/in the morning at work, and it was delicious and wonderful and I loved it so much. And it rained all day, but it was alright. I mean, walking around in the slightly chilly light rain made me feel like I was in Turkey for a while, so that was nice. And the guy I was with actually seemed like an honest, decent guy, which made the day a lot less stressful for me. Most people were pretty nice, and we met an inventor! He was the creator of the abovementioned bendable pencils and shankless toothbrushes, among other things. He mostly markets them to prisons (typed museums at first...?), but sells them for hikers and such, too. ALSO, we stopped at Starbucks before heading back to the office. I got parfait, which made me think of the American Realism class Sara and I took at VCU. It was so awesome. (The class, not the parfait, particularly.) Sigh. I feel like there was something else, but I don't remember it at the moment. Maybe I'll post it later. Ta-ta for now, internet!

Today:

Subway for lunch.

Driving in the rain, being cold.

Waking up at 6:30 am.

Shoe shopping via the Cole Haan 40% off sale--the salespeople in the store were so nice/cool! As in, so nice/cool that I for real want to be friends with them, and wish it wouldn't have been socially super weird, awkward, and generally unacceptable to look them up on facebook or something.

Driving 70 miles around town.

Wearing some of the supercute new clothes purchased yesterday with Lucy at Target (and being complimented on them at the shoe store).

Starting my new job! Zomg! Not that I get paid till I finish training (I think?) but whatever.

And the real kicker,

Two and a half years dating David Vinson: awesome boyfriend extraordinaire.

Just a refresher:

Goodness. What a day.

Liddell* River / God is in the rain**

The stream sweeps joyfully past
after the storm, barely contained
in its banks. It rushes by,
full and lithe,
leaping to leap
and running to run,
fat and swift and happy.

I can hear it singing:
"God made me for a purpose,
but He also made me fast.
When I run,
I feel his pleasure."


*Eric Liddell

**From V For Vendetta, the movie. (Possibly the graphic novel as well, but I have no idea.)

Recycling

(As in, double-posting, from opendiary.com. Don't hate.)

It's been raining almost ceaselessly for three days and doesn't really show signs of stopping soon, and I have remembered that temperature inversions are the work of the devil. So there's that.

Living with my parents is still happening and still not awesome, and not having a job makes that still less awesome. I spend a lot of time looking forward to visits with David, who, when I am with him lately, almost inevitably makes me smile.

I was poking around on Sheenagh Pugh's website and trying to reconcile myself to the fact that she actually hates the poem "Sometimes," which I've got posted on my front page on Opendiary, when I saw her reference another poet: Jenny Joseph. (Ok first of all, what a name.) It seems that I'm in the business of liking one-hit-wonder poems, because I think this one is great. It's called "Warning." It pretty much encompasses* my dreams of pensionerhood.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

*This is not true, because my vision also involves things like cats, and watching PBS all the time, and yelling loudly about "young whippersnappers" and cracking people on the head with my cane. And reminiscing about how when I was a girl, everything was so much better/people knew how to do stuff/I had it way worse than all you goodfornothings/we knew the value of a dollar/we ate misery for breakfast and liked it.

Jobs and weather

I had a job interview this morning, and was asked back for a second interview this coming Monday! So that's promising. And exciting. I was also emailed to set up a phone interview for an ethnographer position on Tuesday. Also a plus.

After I came home I went out again to see my friend Anna. It had been a while, and we ended up hanging out all day, which was pretty great. I took the scenic route home through the rain, really a heavy mist at this point, which has continued uninterrupted for two days now. I have this near obsession with the motion of groups--flocks of birds, groups of people, clouds, schools of fish, raindrops. I love to watch things move. I stared up into the yellowed streetlights the whole way home, watching the rain drift through. It was beautiful.

I love, too, rainy nights in winter where the rain slicks onto the ground like a mirror, reflecting everything back in sharp contrast and bright colors. The brightness against the dark almost never fails to make me think of Christmas, regardless of the actual season.