It rains and rains. One of my friends is sweeping water off of her roof in a raincoat and underwear so as not to soak another outfit. Another is sopping up water in her basement: absorb, rinse, repeat. I sit, safely on my fourth floor walkup, thinking of the apartment below’s ceiling having collapsed early Monday morning due to water damage. All the cracks in our bathroom, the hole in the wall where workers came through this summer, the duct taped X above our shower. How does it all hold?
At bedtime, Pia asks if I can put on a Headspace soundscape — maybe Rain on Rocks? (my personal favorite) It’s already Rain on Rocks in here, Pia, I say, and she does a decent Gaga/Grande impression singing,
🎶 RAIN (Rain!) ON (On!) A/C. 🎶
It is very funny, especially with one front tooth missing; it’s peak Kid Front Toothlessness.
I watch fashion reality tv to stave off nervousness about the beginning of school, to feel creative, to travel vicariously through the television. I give myself an 11pm curfew this week to try to reset my sleep schedule. I listen to an audiobook version of An Everlasting Meal and consult my e-book version when I need to re-read a part or two. My cooking has become rote and boring (quesadillas, pork chops, salmon, repeat). I need to remember how to be clever. How to Cook Everything is open to Pot Roasts — I can dream of winter in summer. Maewyn likes the dessert soups.
Gary curls up beside me, here on the play furniture we also call a couch, and puts his whole arm over mine, settling in for Making the Cut. Let’s go to Paris, let’s go to Tokyo. Let’s get out of this country.
I drink a whiskey on the rocks in honor of those working hard tonight, into the night.
I take a sip. It rains on.