What rain teaches us

The storm came in yesterday with a vengeance. The roof of our back porch has some missing fasteners and was whoop whooping all night. A little leak appeared in Ella’s window jamb, the dogs tracked in more mud and tracks and yelled at every.single.noise.

The rain feels different right now. It feels like it’s keeping me inside and I don’t want to be kept inside. It’s making me so frustrated. Today was a dry spell, but there is more on the horizon.

I actually typed into Google “the meaning of rain,” and this definition popped up.
Rain, /rān/
         1. moisture condensed from the atmosphere that falls visibly in separate drops
            “the rain had not stopped for days”
I feel like moisture condensed from the atmosphere that falls visibly in separate drops. I feel like parts of me are falling into different places. I am standing there watching the drops of me pool, drip and bubble away, create rivulets, dance down windows and disappear, absorbed by all the other drops.
I want my drops to stay together. I’m not ready to let go of parts of myself, even though I am actually very continually learning that parts of me are ready to go and NEED to go,  need to be laid to rest.
It’s okay, and it’s natural. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. I can barely sit here and type this, it’s making me squirm.
“I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be.” -Joan Didion
Thank you, Joan. I just need to hang on to this. But I think I’ll cry and laugh along with Elsa right now, too.
I can’t write more today. I am in a mood and got my feelings hurt pretty hard and I’m sensitive today.
In the end, we only regret

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