(20 eternal bonus points to Sara for introducing me to I’m Alive in high school.)

I love rain. I LOVE dark, ominous clouds. It has to be some sort of void from growing up in Colorado, where there’s an average of 300 days of sunshine a year, I dunno. Maybe something’s going on physiologically with the barometric pressure, but I feel more vital? alive? the darker it is. I know that sounds dumb, but I don’t know how else to explain it. And I’m really not very adventurous by nature (spontaneous, yes, but not so much so that I can go the next level) but I always feel this strange.. vagabond itch when it’s cloudy. Since I first learned to drive I would get in the car and drive for hours and hours. I remember after a painful breakup in college I was home for the weekend when one of those heat-lightning storms came through. I found myself driving K-10 just to find the perfect place to get an unobstructed view. Everything about it I remember as powerful: the heat, the storm, my emotions. It’s a fierce memory.

And I’m sure most people associate cloudiness with contemplation and melancholy (after all, there’s a reason it’s the quintessential literary setting) but it really really gets me. In this stage of my life more than the past, I think, simply because I don’t have the luxury to get in the car and drive for hours. To wit: 10 seconds ago I argued with Jon b/c he wants me to get off the computer to watch a movie, and I want to continue writing a non-sensical blog prompted by the rain.

I feel like right now my thoughts are either on mind-numbing things like potty pooping or heavy things like autism, and I rarely get time to just be by myself in my head uninterrupted. In retrospect, although I always declare that I wouldn’t want to go back to any of my school days, the drama of my then-life seems so much more, well, melodramatic (yeah, imagine that) and safe. Like listening to old songs of whatever time you associate them, and tasting the memory for a bit in the insulation of your now. And that’s not totally true, I did experience some legitimately shitty things in college, but basically it was like a pseudo-real world, a terrarium of college kids living relatively similar lives. Aside from death, what happened to me personally was time-stamped to then, and since that time my reasons for melancholy have become real. My life feels real in this stage, though I know it took all the years before to get to it. And I am overwhelmingly glad to be here; I feel like I’m finally comfortable with myself (more-or-less). But sometimes, like when it’s cloudy and rainy, I just want to taste the simplicity of my old feelings and memories. I want to drive around, listening to Radiohead, smoking (which I don’t) and just being contemplative for the sake of it.