I can hear thunder.
This is odd/notable because even though it rains up here like nobody's business, we've been in the "sunny season" lately. Also, even the frequent precipitation of earlier months was largely devoid of thunder/lightning. A slow, steady drizzle that moistened rather than drenched.
I've been in my convalescent leave now for two and a half weeks, and though originally I planned to write a lot during this time, I haven't. Writing seems to be more prevalent when I'm sad, or angsty, or working through something... I guess only the latter applies, and I'm not talking about medical here. Basically, the interior monologue, the war (if you will) that I've been processing, chewing on, regurgitating and re(?)regurgitating is: at what point do I say, I'm an adult? When do I get comfortable enough... no, not really the right word. When do I get confident enough? Secure enough that I live my life, acknowledging that I will never make some people happy, but to try any other way will be to make myself unhappy. Oh, conundrums. As Rick Nelson sang, "You can't please everyone so you've got to please yourself." I feel like I'm walking into my own Garden Party.
I've also been busy falling in love. Falling in life. Doing laundry. Doing dishes. Taking walks. Listening. Telling long stories. Watching (or not watching) movies. It's been restorative in the way that restoration is, and the way that my life wasn't before.
Liza is beyond alright. And I assure you, more is to come.