Thunder Consciousness

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Early morning blues late at night. Sometimes I think in poems but that doesn’t happen very often. My fingers are too slow for my thoughts, and trying to keep up with them feels awkward. I read somewhere that your brain thinks hundreds of times faster than your hands can write or type. Or maybe someone said that to me. I can hear the first rumbles of thunder outside: perfect timing. I like the sound of rain in general. Rainy days are gray and sort of cozy, and they give you an excuse to stay indoors all day long.

Once when I still lived in Brooklyn, I went outside onto our third story fire escape, barefoot but wearing a raincoat and a waterproof hat. I blew bubbles in the rain and caught a cold afterwards, but it was worth it. It’s important to let your kids do ridiculous things like that when they’re little, or else they won’t have interesting stories to tell when they’re older. I worry that I’m too boring, but remembering all the silly things I did as a kid and I feel a bit better. One time my Brooklyn best friend and I went out and danced in the sprinklers in the city park until we were soaked. I still have a little framed photo from that day, from after we had cleaned up. About a week later, she moved to Florida and I moved here, to New City. We’re friends on Facebook now, but it’s not the same at all. We never talk anymore. At first we used to send letters with sticker sheets and birthday gifts back and forth, like pen-pals, but that stopped after a year and a half. She’s changed, but I feel like I’ve stayed the same, though really we’re both different now. The fact of growing apart is kind of sad, but I don’t mind too much. I’m glad I was close friends with her, at least for a while.

Right now my room is hot and humid, and you can hear the thunder rumbling periodically. I wish it would just rain already, but in the meantime I’m putting on some shorts. Earlier today I cut out pretty picture scraps from a magazine from Colonial Williamsburg. I used to keep a scrapbook and save papers from every family vacation, but now it’s been a while since I’ve made a scrapbook page, and I’m trying to cut down on the amount of stuff I hoard. Every available surface of my table is littered and hung with pretty things that have no practical use, and it bothers me. My private goal is to be like the main character from Stargirl, because, (among other things), she tries not to care about possessions and gives them away. It sounds like a cheesy book, but if you read it it’s really not. Books always sound less interesting when you describe them to someone than when you read them. It’s the same with music: today, my dad tried to show me a song he liked, and as we listened he kept worrying that it didn’t sound as good as he remembered it did. It was oddly funny to see him anxious like that – like a kid, too. I told him that that always happens and he laughed a little.

The temperature in my room just dropped suddenly, and now it’s finally raining outside. I love the sound of thunder, the way it rolls through your bones and heart and gut. One summer when I was little, my family and I were walking somewhere in the city and we passed by an outdoor concert. The huge speakers played a bass beat that I could feel from hundreds of meters away. I remember complaining that it felt like the bass was trying to beat my heart for me. Now I like it when music does that – beats through you, I mean. It feels soothing. I get anxious a lot and my dad says it’s because of lack of sleep, which is true. To be honest, I’m afraid to sleep more, because if the anxiety doesn’t go away when I’ve gotten enough sleep then I won’t have anything to blame it on except myself. It’s a shame, because I love sleeping. Anyway.





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