Dreamy rain.

Yet another thunderstorm is headed our way tonight.  The last three (just in the past week) knocked over trees onto houses and power lines and left people without power for days.  And another storm comes our way now.  The clouds are rolling in, and in a few hours, we’ll have more rain and thunder and lightning.

Today I’ve been doing laundry, mostly, which is a typical activity for a day when I don’t work.  I went through my closet and pulled out about ten things I’d like to part with.  Eventually I’ll clear off my floor so that vacuuming can happen.  I’ve been half productive today, and the things on my to-do list yet to be crossed off loom above my head in a cloud of responsibility.  Emails, exercise, research, etc crowd together to slightly dampen the excitement about what I’ve already accomplished.

And in spite of the cloud of responsibility that seems to reside in my gut, prompting me to take care of my business, I just want to be sitting in a bay window somewhere, high above a city skyline, when the rain pours down.  I want to have a sketchpad and a pottery wheel and an easel with a full paint palette, a note book with at least three sharpened pencils, and something cushy to sit on.  Also, a cup of something chocolatey that would perpetually stay at the perfect degree of warmth for as long as I sat there.  And pizza.  Always pizza.

I want to sit and watch the rain pour down, observe people scurrying down the streets, watch the ones without umbrellas scurry a little faster than their umbrella-carrying counterparts.  I want to let my brain run wild and lock the door to this magical room (that doesn’t exist) so that creativity can rule.

But I’m in a room with hangers on the floor and a painting that I’ve been meaning to finish for weeks and my college life stacked in a corner (but sort of infringing on the rest of the room).  There are clothes that need to go to consignment and emails to be written.  One more load of laundry has got to be hung up.  This is where I am when the rain comes to town.  And this is real.  This is my life, completely devoid of bay window, pottery wheel, and sharpened pencils (I’ve lost the sharpener).  In it’s own way, it’s just as beautiful, less dreamy, but beautiful.  It’s productive, with hints of creative freedom here and there.

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