Listening to the rain is one of my favourite things. I sleep with the window open even though it means my allergies make me feel terrible the next day. I move slow in the morning, listening, even though I’ve got too much to do. The front screen door rattles in the wind, the slower trickles and drips off the back of the house, the gentler rush of cars moving through wet streets. All of this is beautiful and perfect.
I hear the creaking upstairs, Kristen’s on the move. The distant rumble of a train. The world’s on the move.
I’m staring at the calendar, willing there to be time, but I don’t want to come by it dishonestly. Friday’s show in Bethesda is in danger of being rained out, which is a shame, but damn I could use the time. Of course, I’d be in danger of just listening to the rain….
This morning I’m hearing news of a friend hospitalized for a manic episode “before he could do harm to himself or others”. As the story pans out it seems as if it may have been a close thing. Intentionally or not, he called the right person and he’s theoretically getting the help he needs… I have SOME faith in that. Other friends have gone through the same experience and this guy has a social network, friends who can check in on him. It’s not the same for someone who can just vanish into the system.
I wonder about that path. About being “allowed” to break. To be caught and to hopefully recover. To lose it but not be lost.
Well, it’s a reminder that I’ve got to get on with my day. The rain hasn’t ended, but my time to give it my attention has.
