When the Rain Comes

Having composed such heavy material for the past several posts, I thought it was time to present a lighter fare for awhile. So let’s talk about the weather. What a comfortable topic, especially because it can diffuse almost any awkward social situation. In this instance, I am thinking about the rain that has graced the desert over the past few days. For many the drippy weather was the source of inconvenience and in some cases it thwarted plans. I however am always drawn into dreamy landscapes once the skies begin to swell. Held captive to childlike imagination, my heart soars amidst the dramatic display of darkening clouds and ensuing rainfall.

As scenes from Jurassic Park and Lord of the Rings come flooding in, my ridiculous obsession with turning rain into romance becomes increasingly evident. I think about taking a drive into the misty mountains or ascending a peak rising from a dark green forest. At the same time my couch beckons and I am tempted to spend a day reading an adventure while listening to Enya. These thoughts and feelings are as tangible to the senses as the smell of rain. The brief respite of sunlight creates warmness in my soul, an inspiration that exceeds all others. Swept away into cool bliss, I soak up songs sung by the forces of nature colliding to ignite their heavenly exchanges.

Writing about my youthful affinity for something as simplistic as grey skies and precipitation reminds me that I am not above appearing somewhat cloying. Being overly sentimental is the story of my life, and I see no change in my future in that regard (this is where I would insert one of those cheesy smiley punctuations made from a colon and a parenthesis). It is life’s simplicities though, that tend to elicit such incredible excitement, reminding us of what it means to be alive and take in our surroundings. So when the rain comes, it is likely that I will be dreaming off into the distance somewhere with my “head in the clouds,” brooding in the spiritual retreat that reminds me I am alive.

When I Grow Up, I Don't Want to Be an Idiot

The heart is a tricky thing. I wonder what it was that originally caused mankind to associate love and emotion with a bodily organ that simply moves blood. Perhaps it was the life force mentality that ultimately led man to believe that his heart was the center of his feelings while the brain reasoned in logic. Unfortunately, the reality is much less romantic and in order to love one must successfully break the wild stallion that is his mind and bridle his feelings to move him in a healthy and positive direction.

My personal embarrassment is that I let myself fall for someone whose maturity level is that of a petulant child. Repeatedly stomping on my feelings and breaking my heart, he seems to show no semblance of concern for my dignity. Curiously, I am perpetually surprised by his actions or lack thereof, yet I know he is incapable of communicating with me. Frustrated for too long with his juvenile antics, I have to move on and stop caring about someone who could give a shit about me. It hurts and my disposition is one that can’t help but care—BUT, it is over and I need to get over it.

Part of moving on requires a reorganization of one’s life. In my situation, it means that I can’t go on looking for love in all the wrong places. Shopping for projects that need fixing is a bad habit, and I deserve a whole hell of a lot more. The source of my intrinsic lack of self respect remains a mystery, but I know how to change my actions. Life is too short to acquiesce to a miserable existence simply to be in the company of another. I want love. I want the love of another. I want commitment and lifelong partnership. So I must look upward to find my match. Instead of plucking from the mediocre, I want someone who aspires to live! Someone thoughtful, kind, understanding, caring, charming, doting, and above all, loving. In the same way he must have a sense of humor, be strong and smart and persevering. Those are the qualities I desire, and one who possesses even a few of them is more suitable than my recently ended relationship.

So I move forward. For real this time, I promise. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself (as I’m thinking that I keep writing about this and discussing my frustrations with friends). But I have to keep saying it, believing it, and one day perhaps I’ll be living it without effort. For now I can cling to my anger as a crutch, hold my frustration as a constant reminder of why I need to make better decisions. Tomorrow, though, I hope my motivation for treating myself better will come from self respect.

Endings and Beginnings

Last week my life came to a screeching halt--my relationship ended almost as swiftly as it began. When the hammer came crashing down, I took to strength at first, confident in the knowledge that better days would come. Four days into my new reality, I descended quickly to the dark places of hopelessness and depression. Why I felt the pangs of failure almost a week later I do not know, but my mind became swollen with millions of thoughts and emotions and my physical state rendered powerless. Since then, taking a step requires the greatest of effort, and aftershocks of a broken heart still linger.

Lightheaded and swirly, my mind languished in the fears brought on by loneliness and feelings of desertion. As I paced my newly empty home, I loathed the notion of ever returning to bed, and the insomnia set in. Along with the ability to sleep my appetite diminished. Slowly I consumed less and less until I could not remember having anything to eat in a day. Pills and libations failed on all accounts to quell the raging storm within me. In fact it is safe to say that my experience was multiplied tenfold by these factors, and regaining perfect sobriety became the highest priority. Lost to the hell of my emotions and fearsome intensity, I flailed about until I was left lifelessly numb.

As all storms do, eventually the torrents ceased and sun broke through the thick black clouds of despair. Realizing that I gained from my love lost, I slowly began applying myself to normal daily routines--even adding a few that had been neglected for months. Perceiving the loss an opportunity has not fully come to fruition as of yet, but most assuredly I have endeavored to begin the healing process and mend my heart. Thinking of what I want in life and what I want to make of myself, I have begun pondering what I want in a future partner, purposing to wait patiently for the right match and avoiding the pitfalls of futilely attempting to make an apple out of an orange.

Love is truly a journey that is often not perfected the first time on the path. Life always moves on and no matter how bad it seems, time will make everything better. Though this truth still lies just out of my grasp, hope in its coming will carry me through. My love is intense and has always been so; my honesty and openness can be daunting but rather than try to change myself I will wait for the one who appreciates those qualities. Love will return to me one day, and when it does I will be ready for it.