In the mornings, I often write and work from my car while I wait for my kindergartener to get out. It’s quieter than in the super cool school which is half an hour away from my house.
The thing about working in the car is that the decor is determined by the weather. (And, unfortunately, my cleaning habits.)
Lately, that weather has been rain. Every day, except on weekends, when I don’t work from my car.
Let me tell you something about this work environment. It’s like I’ve been stuffed back into my childhood when I wanted to go out and play but it was raining. Staring out the window, no good books to read, only stupid talk shows or soap operas on TV, and I made a huge mess with my chemistry set so I’m grounded from it. That was when chemistry sets were cool, before toy companies started getting sued.
Back then, I lived in a desert, and rain like this was rare. In fact, most rain storms were more like action adventure movies. Thunder, lightning, our road transformed into rapids. So I would still stare out the window, but my reaction would be “Woah! Look at their shingles flying off. Cool! We’re gonna wash down the road. Awesome!”
It was epic rain in the sense that it was big and loud.
I live in the same valley. Hello, global climate change.
This epic rain feels more like a long narrative in archaic language in poetic form. At the end, everyone dies and I’m still staring out the window, watching the snail make it’s way across a sidewalk, wishing I could go play.