The Weather Commits to Rain

It is the kind of morning where the universe kindly tells me, "No.  Do not go for your morning walk outside."  It is pouring rain, the kind of rain that says the weather has made up its mind, not a drizzle, not a mist, but a commitment to rain.  There is a pulse of lightning, a low rumble of thunder.  The radar shows a big, globby mess parked over us.

For the next hour, I will try not to think about flooded streets, king tides, and all that must be done in the coming weeks (getting to work, house sale, that kind of thing).  For the next hour, I will smell the pumpkin bread that I put in the oven to bake, a bread batter that I whipped together when I realized I would not be walking.  I will delight in this smell of autumn, and I will write.

I had gotten a late start to the day, late for me, with some computer glitchiness and trying to troubleshoot a power strip that has stopped working.  So in a way, I'm glad to have some writing time.  But it does remind me of one of my chief frustrations with my life and the way my brain works.  I do my best ____ first thing in the morning; fill in that blank with writing, exercising, any number of activities.  If I don't do these things in the morning, I'm not likely to do them later.  Even on a day when I'm not at work, I'm not likely to do them.

But of course, I am also feeling a bit of weariness, so I'm not at my best writing self this morning.  It's been a week of writing accreditation documents on a tight deadline, with not as much supporting data as I would like.  Sigh.  There's also something about November, when my schedule begins to catch up with me.

I made this Tweet/Facebook post the other day:  "This is the kind of week/month/year I'm having: I saw the tweet about Starbucks rolling out holiday coffees tomorrow, and my first thought was a sincere "Yippee!" despite the fact that I rarely indulge in those drinks (because of the calories and expense)."

I like the spirit of this Tweet/Facebook post.  It shows some weariness, yet also that even in weariness, there is the potential for joy.