a want for rain

It's funny how late at night, time goes simultaneously too slow and too fast. I looked at the clock at 9:58; I still have a few minutes to fall asleep before it feels a little hopeless that I won't get enough. A blink later and it's 10:07; it's all fucked. Just a few minutes later, and soon it will be midnight, & the whole next day will already be happening, & I'm not sleeping. 

I'm ready for rain. I can't stop thinking about it. The summers I've always known were full of thunderstorms and lightning and rain. Lots of rain. I know Seattle saves the rain for winter, and our summers are known for countless days of non-stop sun. The past few mornings, it's been cool & grey. I soak it in like a bucket full of sand: just add water, and you can build a castle in which to hideaway.

I get a lot of sleep in the winter: the long days apply hibernation mode, where I don't feel guilty about going to bed at 8:00. Somehow sleep comes easier when the dark stays longer; maybe my brain is just fooled by the early dark--oh, it's been dark for 5 hours? It's a false insomnia, negligent of the actual hour.

I don't mean to take the summer for granted. This summer just seems uneventful. Last year, we traversed about in my car. This year, we're homebodies, sticking to downtown and the dog park and going to dinner with friends. It's a nice, small life, but I can't help but wish I were in the mountains or the woods. I have no way to get there.

I think Pickle is a bit restless as well. She's been sniffing the same street corners for months now, but the scents are the every day. Even the sidewalks need the rain to bring fresh air through the town. Not to mention Pickle looks adorable in her raincoat.

It thundered twice last Saturday. A single deep grey cloud lingered in the East then disappeared to a clear and calm day interrupted by the roar of fighter planes spinning tricks in the air. The sun was nearly unbearable to sit in, and we all took to the shade. Thunder, come back.

 The summer before I moved here was the July of thunderstorms. I remember racing around the house to shut the windows as the rain poured in sideways and thunder shook the doorframes. Somehow that feeling--the slight jolt--can be felt all through; it's one of those things that reminds me that there's something bigger out there, that I'm small and helpless, and the world is so much greater.

 I miss letting the thunder lull me to sleep or letting it shake me awake at 3am only to rock me to a comfortable pattern of zzzs. Thunder makes me feel safe. I wish a storm were one of those things you could just drive to--like I could take a roadtrip to a thunderstorm and feel satisfied and whole. I used to pray for storms.

I find the rain romantic in a this-is-how-I-idealized-my-life-to-be sort of way. There was a slight drizzle when I awoke on Saturday. I thought I'd curl up in my reading chair in the living room and just listen to it, but I couldn't hear it there, only from my bed out the window. Not enough to patter off of I guess, so I sat and watched and listened. It didn't last long, but it was something. I'm sure in a few months, I'll be praying for the sun. Right now, rain is just refreshing.