23 May 2014
blather-bath and other made-up words
Maybe it's the coffee.
Scratch that -- it's definitely the coffee. Or, what it really is -- it's the coffee and the rain. The sweet-smelling, fast-falling rain in Denver. Today was one of those really-wonderful-without-actually-being-wonderful-in-any-definable-way kind of days. My favorite part was walking out of work for the day and seeing the sky a massive, solid panel of gray. And the rain coming down so hard you could barely see through it. It's the kind of thing that makes my soul sing, that kind of overbearing, gray gloom. And the kind of thing that compels me to march to the nearest coffee stand to grab a latte for the drizzly drive home. I can hardly imagine anything more perfectly luxurious than evening coffee in the rain. Nothin' I tell ya. With a book. And an olive candle if you can swing it.
On this drive home, I felt fully...engulfed. This week we watched Say Anything for the first time, and there's this scene (tinged with sublime levels of melodrama and teenage angst -- which, now that I'm typing it, sounds redundant in the best way) where John Cusack is standing, in the dark, in a telephone booth, in the rain, crying on the phone -- and today, on the drive home, I felt a mystical connection to Lloyd Dobler in that scene. Not in the sobbing sense, or in any kind of maudlin, overly sad way -- or even in a sad way at all! But, I guess it's like this: you have singing in the rain. Dancing in the rain, running in the rain, writing in the rain, riding the bus in the rain, kissing in the rain, but my very favorite ing to do in the rain is feeling in the rain. In the midst of a good rain storm, I become a big ol' crock pot of emotions, all mixing up together in the most delicious way. An amalgam of feelings. You know -- the kind of melancholy that makes you want to write, and then the prospect of writing thrills you? It's not sadness at all, actually. I take it back. It's just the long-awaited surfacing of thoughts that can't come up when it's sunny. Tell me you know this feeling! There needs to be a word for it. I'll work on that. Oh, I'm really butchering this -- I know it -- with this incoherent blather-bath (new word!) of a post. But I'm kind of OK with that. What I mean is it fills me up, the rain. I feel every bit me in it.
And -- to backpedal exactly 18 sentences -- on the topic of books, I am now reading Letters Home from Sylvia Plath, and it is the most soulful, interesting, funniest -- truly most excellent thing I have read in some time. I can't even get into it on a blog post without being wholly reductive. So let my suggestion that you pick it up speak higher than my (fragmented) accolades. I think maybe you would like it, too.