Driving home from the gym, I got caught in the teeth of a bad storm. The sky was that psychotic green color where the pinky flush of the sunset is bleeding through the grey and making everything look a little curdled. The wind was going sideways, slamming my car. I didn't mind it though--I needed a better storm than the one that fleeted through Harrisonburg earlier, leaving everything a little sticky.
Rescuing clothes off the line, I thought about my unlikely but possible death of lightning--appropriate for a girl who spent so much of her life fretting about storms, fretting about everything. (Optimistic Blonde Dies by Lightning While being Insane about Laundry, reads no headline ever.) I don't know if I have a point. When I was coming down the yard, damp clothes bundled in my arms, I thought about how ramshackle my house looked in the storm, a little long in the tooth. Needs a new roof, or at least a powerwashing. I have a bumper crop volunteer violets in a mishmash of color springing up everything--about the only thing it seems I can grow this year--and since they are a bunch of mixed up types, they are the most random different colors.
Now, typing this, still unshowered in my green room, I feel feral. I like exercise: a hard reset on the kind of bungling mood I get in sometimes, and have been in for the last two days.
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