(no subject)
Sep. 18th, 2004 04:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kjpepperOutside there are trees roaring white noise in the wind, and the soft soothing patter of rain. Periodically the patter gets louder, faster, more insistent. It's a good night to be indoors, away from the howling wetness, unless of course you are one of those people that occasionally like to emulate that scene in the Shawshank Redemption when Andy finally escapes.
Drifting in and out of slumber on the green loveseat (which is shockingly cozy once camouflage blanket is added to the equation) and with that Train song everyone got sick of last year stuck in my head (I don't listen to the radio much and therefore I'm allowed to like it) l remember all the times when I've just sat in a window or sprawled somewhere and just listened to the rain. In my room at "home" such noise would be accompanied by the muted noise of the street outside, the pound of a faraway stereo somewhere, a car alarm or two, and every ten minutes or so, the doppler-pitched roar of a subway train screaming through the open cut not two hundred feet from my window, either slowing to pull into the station a block away from my house, or accelerating towards the next stop and Manhattan. At Smith I would sit in Lamont's dining room and listen to the fat syncopated rattle of raindrops on the roof as I either attempted to study or ate some late night delectable. Two of the last three houses I have in some way occupied, including our current residence, were heavy on the gables and magnified the sound of rain. I don't know what I've been thinking at all of these points, but I do know and remember how the sound of a downpour enters my ears and permeates my soul, gently cooling the fires of worry I sometimes find myself mired in every so often. Tonight is no execption, both in the worry and in the cooling effect.
It's nights like this that I wish I had both my license and a vehicle that's not mortally offended by my presence behind the wheel. I don't have a destination in mind or anything, but travelling gently and carefully over wet road, wipers slowly thunking back in forth in syncopation with whatever's playing softly on the radio (now it's "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes") is a comforting thought. Probably from way too many nights in the car with my mother, returning home to the city from goodness only knows where.
I should sleep more, as![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jaicat and I are due to leave early tomorrow (today) for the City. Probably won't happen at this point, as I'm once again wide awake, but in principle, I figured I'd mention. Teh brain is a bit full for sleepage right now anyway.
Drifting in and out of slumber on the green loveseat (which is shockingly cozy once camouflage blanket is added to the equation) and with that Train song everyone got sick of last year stuck in my head (I don't listen to the radio much and therefore I'm allowed to like it) l remember all the times when I've just sat in a window or sprawled somewhere and just listened to the rain. In my room at "home" such noise would be accompanied by the muted noise of the street outside, the pound of a faraway stereo somewhere, a car alarm or two, and every ten minutes or so, the doppler-pitched roar of a subway train screaming through the open cut not two hundred feet from my window, either slowing to pull into the station a block away from my house, or accelerating towards the next stop and Manhattan. At Smith I would sit in Lamont's dining room and listen to the fat syncopated rattle of raindrops on the roof as I either attempted to study or ate some late night delectable. Two of the last three houses I have in some way occupied, including our current residence, were heavy on the gables and magnified the sound of rain. I don't know what I've been thinking at all of these points, but I do know and remember how the sound of a downpour enters my ears and permeates my soul, gently cooling the fires of worry I sometimes find myself mired in every so often. Tonight is no execption, both in the worry and in the cooling effect.
It's nights like this that I wish I had both my license and a vehicle that's not mortally offended by my presence behind the wheel. I don't have a destination in mind or anything, but travelling gently and carefully over wet road, wipers slowly thunking back in forth in syncopation with whatever's playing softly on the radio (now it's "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes") is a comforting thought. Probably from way too many nights in the car with my mother, returning home to the city from goodness only knows where.
I should sleep more, as
jaicat and I are due to leave early tomorrow (today) for the City. Probably won't happen at this point, as I'm once again wide awake, but in principle, I figured I'd mention. Teh brain is a bit full for sleepage right now anyway.
