Standing in the Rain

Fall / Autumn concept - Rain boots in mud puddleThis afternoon, I got an impulse to stand in the pouring rain. It rarely rains here in drought stricken Southern California.

The air gets so nasty and dense with smog, sometimes visible, sometimes not, but always toxic.

So, when the rain comes, it’s such a gift. It washes away the muck, turns what is a rather drab city into a lush expanse surrounded by mountains touching a picturesque blue sky.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

It’s still raining. This is a long stretch for us (been a few days on and off now). Neither these streets nor the drivers who traverse them are prepared for rain. Intersections flood and cars hydroplane. Some people drive dangerously slow, while others’ accelerated speeds scream “death wish.”

These houses don’t have roofs constructed to withstand onslaughts that wouldn’t come close to being referred to as onslaughts in most other places.

This rain is such a big deal!

So, I got this impulse to go stand in the rain. I hoped the rain would wash away every morsel of dingy, lingering painful impressions left upon me from past experiences (some recent, some long ago and some probably pre-cognition).

I stepped out into the rain. Rain that beats down so hard when it hits the ground but is actually quite soft as it lands on my head, my torso and eventually my feet.

This rain isn’t strong enough to wash away my angst. But it feels so good anyway.

My dog is peering at me from inside my house. She glares in an expression I can only interpret as concern for my mental health. But she’s a loyal dog so after a few minutes, she takes a few tentative steps toward me. Then she barrels into a full force crazy run and bucks her body about with apparent joy.

I can’t help but smile.

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My Pseudo-Bio

I am a mother. I care deeply about being present for my children. Though I feel scattered and faltering much of the time. I miss nature. I am lazy at heart unless intrinsically and overwhelmingly passionate about what I am doing. I miss nature. I feel beautiful sometimes but not beautiful enough. I love to write, but mostly so I can be “heard,” understood. I love men, want a man in my life, want to soften and fall into one, but am terrified of surrendering. I want a garden. I want a kitchen with concrete countertops and stainless appliances. I want an audi. I want to get parenting right. I want to be divorced but I don’t want to be a divorcée. I like to edit, motion pictures, text, words, life … I like to research, analyze, dissect (concepts, not creatures). I liked being vegan, felt cleaner and clearer but I crave meat. I’m an easy crier, a sap, a dreamer, a cynical romantic. I hate being looked at but want to be recognized. I’m starting to feel jealous of young people which is just awful. I love acting but feel ugly when I do it. I still feel like a dork. Stupid. Maybe not stupid, but lame and secretly genius but socially inept. I think that none of this really matters but every detail means something. I want more friends but so many people irk me. I don’t believe in true altruism but do believe I should be more generous and charitable. I want to be special but I really believe everyone is special which means no one is really that special. I thrive on approval and accolades but the establishment can fuck itself.

I don’t want to care about what people will say about me when I’m dead. I’ll be dead!

I care about children, nature and the environment, movies, literature (wish I’d read more and would read more), education, women’s rights, men’s rights, human rights, animal rights. I care about clean air, healthy food and water, the truth about medicine and how we sicken ourselves.

I want to travel. I want enough money to do what I want when I want. I want to do big or do nothing.