Listen To The Rhythm Of The Falling Rain
Well, it's midnight Friday night/Saturday morning, and I'm really not sure why I'm still awake. I was making the attempt to go to bed about an hour ago, but I didn't quite make it down the hallway. The mess in my study was calling my name, "Matty....MATTY! Come over to the dark side. Come play with us. Explore that which is the debris of your life!" It's kinda odd. And it seems like the voice only calls to me late at night. Maybe it's from a lack of sleep. I'm not sure. So anyways, I came in here to see if there was anything I could accomplish quickly, and I lodged myself in the quagmire which is my study. I don't know if I could even find the door right now if I wanted to. Why can't I ever just let things be?
All this cleaning and organizing has forced me to go through all sorts of stuff I didn't realize I had, or was trying to forget. I came across the manuscript of a book I started to write. Sixty pages of drivel. I ran it through the shredder. It was liberating and painful at the same time. Though I would never have wanted anyone to see the drivel I come up with in my mind, that drivel represented a big chunk of time that I spent writing and editing and rewriting. Maybe it's because I'm a packrat, but I hate to throw things away. There may have been some good ideas in that manuscript, that I could have used to start a new book. Although there's no point dwelling on it; it's already destroyed. I guess I'll just have to start on something new.
I wonder about the point of all the things I am doing. Why is it necessary to make this place neat and organized? I know where everything is: why does it need to be changed? I feel as if I were creating a home that no one will ever see. Who am I cleaning up for? There isn't anyone to share this home with. Am I just wasting my time?
It's raining outside right now, and the steady drumming of the icy droplets on my windowpane is mesmerizing. I like the rain. Something as simple as water falling from the heavens proves to be utterly complex and essential. The water is necessary for the grass to grow and for trees to blossom; without it, the spring tulips and daffodils would not bloom. It washes away the grit and grime of the world. Still, there remains something inherently depressing about the rain. While it's raining, everything looks shriveled and weak. The leaves on the trees hang limp, and droop with the burdensome weight of the water. The sky is bleak and grey, and the sun stays hidden and out of sight. Even the sound of the rain is slow and labored, as if it would rather be doing something more fun. Rain makes people hide. Whether under their umbrellas or watching from their studies, people wait for the rain to clear. When the rain clears, life begins to return to the world. Until then, I'll continue to watch the chubby pellets of water splash down on the damp and dingy windowsill.
Tomorrow the snow comes. And I'm tired. But there's a stuffed alligator waiting for me in my bedroom. I think we'll cuddle up together and listen to the rain.
Goodnight.
Bookends Theme
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you.
All this cleaning and organizing has forced me to go through all sorts of stuff I didn't realize I had, or was trying to forget. I came across the manuscript of a book I started to write. Sixty pages of drivel. I ran it through the shredder. It was liberating and painful at the same time. Though I would never have wanted anyone to see the drivel I come up with in my mind, that drivel represented a big chunk of time that I spent writing and editing and rewriting. Maybe it's because I'm a packrat, but I hate to throw things away. There may have been some good ideas in that manuscript, that I could have used to start a new book. Although there's no point dwelling on it; it's already destroyed. I guess I'll just have to start on something new.
I wonder about the point of all the things I am doing. Why is it necessary to make this place neat and organized? I know where everything is: why does it need to be changed? I feel as if I were creating a home that no one will ever see. Who am I cleaning up for? There isn't anyone to share this home with. Am I just wasting my time?
It's raining outside right now, and the steady drumming of the icy droplets on my windowpane is mesmerizing. I like the rain. Something as simple as water falling from the heavens proves to be utterly complex and essential. The water is necessary for the grass to grow and for trees to blossom; without it, the spring tulips and daffodils would not bloom. It washes away the grit and grime of the world. Still, there remains something inherently depressing about the rain. While it's raining, everything looks shriveled and weak. The leaves on the trees hang limp, and droop with the burdensome weight of the water. The sky is bleak and grey, and the sun stays hidden and out of sight. Even the sound of the rain is slow and labored, as if it would rather be doing something more fun. Rain makes people hide. Whether under their umbrellas or watching from their studies, people wait for the rain to clear. When the rain clears, life begins to return to the world. Until then, I'll continue to watch the chubby pellets of water splash down on the damp and dingy windowsill.
Tomorrow the snow comes. And I'm tired. But there's a stuffed alligator waiting for me in my bedroom. I think we'll cuddle up together and listen to the rain.
Goodnight.
Bookends Theme
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you.
posted by Matty at 12:23 AM
3 Comments:
This is probably the most beautiful blog entry I've read.
Thanks. Sometimes I have profound inspiration, and I try to go with it when it's there.
There's so much that I feel that I want to express, but most of the time I can't figure out how to get what's in my head onto paper (or the computer, as it were.) I wish I could do it more often...
I agree with Amanda: beautiful writing -- and some of my favorite music. :)
The Cakers
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