right as rain

I write a lot when it’s raining.

It is just something I do – along with writing in coffee shops, about the coffee shops, while it’s raining.

No, this post is not being written at coffee shop, but it is raining.

So yes, it kind of fits in the theme.

I am sitting in my bed.

For those of you who have just caught on to this sensation, or for those of you who forgot, my bed is located underneath some else (it’s a bunk bed. I’m not literally sleeping underneath someone’s bed) and that bed also occupies a room with three other beds. I am the only one awake, which is a surprise because usually computer screens light up the small corners of the room way passed this hour.

It’s raining outside, rather hard actually. I can tell by the blur of the orange light on the building across the road and can hear the deep sloshing of fast paced vehicles on the busy streets. I wish I could throw all the windows open and write this while sitting in the middle of the room with the only light being the criss cross stripes of light from the windows on the walls.

My roommates do not believe in fresh air.

They also do not believe in opened blinds passed five o clock.

I think I write when it’s raining because the rain makes me nostalgic. It doesn’t make me sad.

 It makes me remember.

Remember the good times, the rough patches, the moments I wouldn’t change anything, the times I wish would have gone differently. This nostalgic feeling makes me feel like I need to share something. I don’t really want to share those memories though. So I come here, to this public domain, and describe in detail the objects around me. (We all remember the coffee garden posts where I pick apart the tastes, the smells, and the sites. Or how about me sitting at the dining room table talking about the lights and how bright they are against my parent’s studious faces.)

Posts like these are not really for you.

They are not informative about my life or the latest tunes those cool kids are listening to these days.

Posts like these are really for me.

They are something that the minute I start to write, usually introducing it with a poorly executed introduction, I cannot stop. My fingers constantly clicking keys, pressing onward quickly, not thinking about what I am going to write next, just writing down the thoughts as they present themselves no matter what shape or form.

My spelling is even more atrocious in these posts than usual. The page of text, first written in Word Document, is lined with red and green squiggles under misspelled words and unorganized thoughts. As my spelling gets worse, my vocabulary heightens and I randomly through in words like “executed” and “atrocious,” These thesauruses like words are often used wrong, kind of like my speech when I am nervous or not thinking before speaking.

It takes longer to spell check the document than to actually write it.

There is no music playing, no headphones on, no bar’s stereo turned up to loudly, but yet a song is tuning through my ears. It’s not a particular artist, chorus or key, but a combination of the rain, the street side laughter, and the quick click of the keys.

I hope my music isn’t disturbing my roommates.

I think this post that was originally brought on by the rain, which brought on the nostalgia, was also brought on by the idea that I will not be home for thanksgiving.

In Italy, I didn’t really notice that I missed it.

Yes, I took in the fact that my entire family was joining together to eat and laugh and unbutton their pants secretly at the table. But I was in a country who didn’t know what the holiday was and the time difference made the at home celebration seem like something that happened while I was sleeping and I just missed it.

That I just didn’t wake up in time.  

Not here. Here I see everything. Plans about where everyone is going and whom they are spending it with. I understand the reasons for me not going home – I don’t have a break from school and it isn’t worth it. But I still feel a bit homesick. I miss the company and warmth my family contributes. Even Skype sometimes can radiate their heat just by seeing their smiles.

Rain is my favorite weather. It is cleansing, simple, illuminating, and crisp. It is new. It is familiar.

I like to write when it’s raining. To me, it is inspiring.

Goodnight/Good Morning.

Have a wonderful Sunday.

I miss you.

Xo