The wallpaper on my desktop is a blue sky overshadowed by a bough of branches bearing pink flowers. The definition of spring. Outside, the sky is overcast, muggy gray and drizzling–“spitting” as they say in England. I feel waterlogged, but not in a good way, not in the summer beach way where you’re covered in sand and sun, skin sprinkled with sea-salt or chlorine. I ache for these things, to start my job as a lifeguard and sit beside the pool in my red one-piece, whistle around my neck as I watch for rough-housing and horseplay, running children and alcohol where it shouldn’t be.
I was supposed to have work today, both jobs, but my shift at the hotel got picked up by someone else, and the pre-season poolside work I was supposed to do was cancelled due to the rain. Yesterday, the sun shone, the temperature reached the side of warmth, and I drove home from work wearing sunglasses and blasting my AC so as not to get overheated. I imagined going to Christiansburg today wearing jeans, a tank top, and one of my favorite kimonos, aviator sunglasses perched on my nose and my laptop in a bag around my shoulders. Instead, I’m at home, plans dashed, rain sliding along the window beside me.
I hate rain.
Well, I suppose my relationship with rain is a love-hate of sorts. I love sunshine and warm days, and when rain takes that away, it’s frustrating. I love storms, summer lightning and thunder lashing out, rain coming down in sheets, but when the sky does nothing but trickle down in pathetic bursts, I feel a headache come on from the constant pressure of weighted-down clouds above. I want blue skies; I want sunlight. At least give me storms if it must rain.
I took a bath, intending to warm up the cold that had settled in my bones, but it did nothing. I still feel the dampness all the way through my skin. I had plans to go to the library, take back books and borrow others, wander through the stacks without a care in the world.
Life feels too routine lately.
When I’m not working, I feel stagnant, as if everything is grinding to a halt. I automatically get excited when I have days off, but now I wonder how I survived nearly three months without a job; there’s nothing to do here, no reason to get out of bed in the morning if I don’t have plans. I feel useless when I’m not working or running errands or hanging out with people.
I guess that’s my extrovert side.
While I was in school, I got so used to always doing things. Days off were a rarity–there was always something to do, work or school or meet-ups with friends. The days I did have off, I relished, locking myself in my apartment and sleeping until two, watching YouTube and playing video games all day because I could. But in the past few months, that felt like all I did–I worked out, I slept in, I played video games, I watched YouTube, I tried to find a job. I stagnated.
I don’t want to do that anymore.
Once my hair dries, I’ll go to the library, wander through the aisles. Maybe I’ll stop by The Coffee Grinder and read for a bit in one of their comfy chairs. Who knows? But I won’t stay here.
I won’t stagnate again.