Rain.

When I left the house this morning, it was gray with blue and white on the edges. At the end of the ocean was blue sky, but the storm hovered overhead. Waiting to unload.

It unloaded when I left work. It was raining, and I was thankful, as the world seemed to be completely coated in dust for the last few days. When we had the mini-massachusetts-monsoon in may, everything on earth here sprung green. Now things are turning brown and orange from the heat. I want that smell again: wet soil and growth.

It's such a nice smell, and I want it. When you live or work near the ocean, you get the smell of the sea mixed in and it's gorgeous and fresh and you wish you had breathed nothing else in your life, even though you know you filled your lungs with car exhaust and smog.

Anyway, it began to rain. Just regular, summer rain. Some lightning. Some thunder. Still far away.

I began to drive home.

Soon, I couldn't see in front of me. Cars had their hazards on, and were pulled over precariously on the curvy road I take to and from work.

The wind threw the rain at me. Lightning struck very close by -- when it flashed, it was so bright that for a moment there was nothing but light and a snapcrack so loud I thought my windows would shatter. They didn't. Thank goodness. The roads flooded a little. Cars began to hydroplane as a result of wet, wet roads and minimal visibility.

I reached my destination safely. The worst was that I could see the clear sky to the east. Just over the ocean. On land, it was all terrible t-storm.

I met up with my friend Marybeth, who is currently hating the job she has. I can't blame her. It's somewhat tedious, certainly. She's trying to decide what to do. I can't say for certain what I would do in her shoes. I would probably struggle on until I really, really couldn't take it anymore. Until I didn't want to get up in the morning. Which is far too long. I don't think she'll take it that far. She's a bit more realistic than I am. More aware of her psychological needs, maybe.

I wrote a bunch of crappy poems, and put down some of the words that were rattling around in my scattered brain for other poems which I couldn't quite put together just then.

Speaking of scattered, let me briefly touch upon social networking sites. I hate them a little bit. I love pieces of them, and the ability to see/talk to friends, etc, with ease, but I hate the politics of it, and the fact that I am represented by these pieces of what I like. It's so incomplete and really helps perpetuate a fractured self. It makes me wonder who I am, what I represent, how people perceive me. I am not really comfortable with categorization, which history shows us over and over, in certain instances, leads to certain forms of marginalization. Even if it's social marginalization, in the most absurd sense, I'm not interested. And yet -- I feel so roped in. Like I can't get out. These sites make me feel so piece-meal. All over the place. A poorly written definition.

This is a scattered blog post. If I were you, I'd scatter myself.