There is a kind of sleety-snow falling outside, raining sideways against the window, wet enough to run down the drainpipe outside the porch. I hear it rattling, like ice in a shaker, as it tumbles in spirals through the corrugated tin. My parents have the same gutters, ridged and rusty from years of wet springs and snowy AutumnWinters. The major downspout lived outside my window, at the corner near the head of my bed, and I spent hours not sleeping, listening to the tumultuous thunderstorms through that tiny tube of tin.
I always listened to the rain alone.
Lately I’ve been feeling those nights of raindrops and stormsounds and remembering how it feels. I’m transitioning again, by choice or by making, and I’m stuck in this alone-ness and unknowing. I watch a squirrel scamper across the greenspace in this almost-former backyard and I wonder if s/he has a nest somewhere, a place to go home to, a family waiting. The kittens frantic over the catnip bunny, fighting it and each other for possession of an ear, a tail, a sniff, a lick.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not upset over being by myself, without a place to go, for Thanksgiving. Sure, I’ll admit it sucks, because I’m a very social person and I like the company of others. And yeah, when I hear others talking about their plans I dread the moment I am asked, “So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” because there is a look of pity and something I cannot name when I say “I’m staying home alone with my cats. I might knit, or bake, or read four books. I’ll sleep in late and go to bed very early. I have no other place to go.”
I don’t want to go to Northern Minnesota, to spend another holiday crammed at the kid’s table, or in silent conversation with my family about nothing I am or will be. I don’t want to hitchhike to Michigan, to sit at a table with family I once knew well but feel disconnected from like wires that misfire and synapses shut down.
I like sitting at the computer, peeking around the corner to watch a kitten pop his head up from inside the laundry hamper. I don’t mind the dirty dishes of my own making, the fact that I want some cheese but can’t afford it so I crave it and do nothing, the emails I get with prices too high for my retail budget and having to reply, thanks but I can’t right now, I appreciate the information, it’s outside my budget in this now.
I might go out later today. I saved some quarters from my last paycheck and there is the best chiya tea at the Nepalese place. I know it isn’t more than I have saved, and I might even get a cup of dal to go. The usual server is a very sweet womyn, and I always have the best time when I go there.
But tonight, and tomorrow, it’s me, Franklin, Scatha, and a whole lot of books, yarn, baking, movies, and quiet. I’ve been home one-and-a-half hours and have yet to turn on sound. Those of you who know me remember my studying to the Pretenders and Heart.
I shouldn’t have gone looking for links. So much for the silence.
But there is still that thick, heavy rain.
And I am still alone.
As we used to say, alone with yourself is better than alone with someone in bed next to you. Hope the rain has let up, the sky has cleared and a new direction has come to you. As the Solstice draws near, it’s good to have a plan.
I am completely impressed with your phrasing. I think that on this post, especially, the way you order your words really makes the emotion real… the sense of being alone is almost physical – like it’s sitting here next to reading it with me lol. I think you have a way of expressing yourself/state-of-mind that is incredible.
I loved the way that rain came into the picture as well. Rain does carry that sense of alone, I like it for that reason though most people don’t.
I hope that you can find the perspective you seek. I am searching for much the same, and the maze of life seems to excel at hiding the clues. But they ARE out there, waiting to be found, and they lead to a new, more fulfilling path. I always keep that in mind.