Airport Road

Why is it that I feel everyday has to include rain? I look at the weather channel and the only two things I'm concerned about are what time the sun will rise and if rain is in the forecast. If a storm is making it's way through South Jerz, I can anticipate a royal day for myself. On Sunday, I thought fo' sho' a tornado was erupting. One minute the sky was light gray with the hint of a drizzle and the next, black and blue contused clouds were moving on in. But behind the busted clouds, there was this bizarre backdrop. It was the color of tropical waters, the submerged plant life sending waves of green pigment to the calm, blue surface. When I was younger, I heard that when a tornado threatened to rip through the earth, the sky would turn an intense shade of green. I wonder if my luminous sky had been preparing for anything besides opening it's squeaky hinges to let the rain wash away the bird poop from the windshields.

I think I'm trying to match the weather with me. Normally, I don't give a shit about matching (we're talkin' clothes here, homes) but in this case, I think I want the outside world to identify with my inside world. It's not that I'm sad or depressed or lonely or damp. It's just overbearing sunshiney goodness isn't exactly how I'm feeling right now. I'm tuckered out. How's that term for ya? I was trying to find the oldest sounding synonym for tired and I think I did. Only with the help of Laura Ingalls Wilder, of course! Now when I say tired (tuckered out) I don't mean sleepy. Just fed up with being left out in the cold. Even though it's summer and the temperature never dips below 70 degrees, I'm still being forgotten. The biggest problem?... I don't know how to tell you that I am a god damn good listener. I wanna know about your day, about your life, your experiences. But until you realize that I have two perfectly good ears, a functioning brain and a heart with an abundance of room, there ain't no way to crack your crunchy outer coating. And this shit will just keep eating away at me. Which pisses me off. Do you know I'm trying to listen or are you intentionally keeping our chats to "I'm good, and you?" Open up. Let the rain pour out of your squeaky hinges. Wash me away like bird poop. ..... too far?.... :/ Not even sure if he reads my words. I hope he does.

Last night, Stina, Popie, Sam and I decided at 8:30 to drive more than an hour to Seaside and sit on tablecloths in the sand. On our way down the long, winding roads we belted out every song you can think of. Mixtures of Queen, Guns & Roses, Celine, Snoop, Hanson and so many more. It was so beautiful. All in all, we spent about 2.5 hours just singing/screaming with the windows open and the moonlight shining in the car windows. But the beach. It was probably the best idea we could have had last night in the midst of our boredom. It was spontaneity to the max and a bitchin' time. We layed with our bellies to the moon all like little kids and made animals out of wispy cloud formations. We connected the three stars we could see in the sky only because the other 4 billion were being drowned by boardwalk light pollution. We dipped our feet in the ocean water and found out that the sand was extra soggy. I didn't even take three steps once I reached the foaming sea before the sand swallowed my legs and the water reached halfway up my thigh. I don't care if it reached up to my neck, I was enjoying myself thoroughly. This is the kind of summer adventure I want to surround myself with. Yes.