May 7, 2003.
Heavy clouds


It rained so hard yesterday that the roof of my office broke. I was there when it happened, watching the huge swirling charcoal clouds finally open up. I placed my hand under the drips as they fell from the ceiling like a miniature indoor waterfall. The ceiling in our office is slowly degenerating, and the heavy rains Atlanta's seen over the past couple of weeks are just adding insult to injury.

The leaky spot of the roof was right by the door of my office. The building maintenance man came and placed a 50-gallon drum on the wet spot on the floor and looked out the window nervously, as if he hoped it wouldn't overflow.

I felt like a tiny god watching the people down below scuttle down the sidewalk as the rain fell. Water flying in every direction. I watched them from above and dispensed tiny bits of advice as they dashed this way and that, newspapers covering their heads. "Sandals might have been a bad choice today, ma'am," I whispered gently. "Sir, you should really remember to pack an umbrella next time...."

I like the rain when it comes like this, giant relentless waves. The world always looks so renewed after the sky clears. It's like pressing the "reset" button on the universe, starting from scratch. Even the world needs to start over sometimes.

And I was oddly happy when the roof started leaking. It was just a small bit of drama, but it effectively broke up another humorless, discouraging day at the office. I don't know what it is lately, but I feel so stuck these days. Every day lately just feels like the same old grind. And I am bothered by the fact that I'm going to work solely for the paycheck lately (a grim, mealy little paycheck it is, too). I've gone through dry spells at work before, but I'm feeling it more than ever before these days. I am a card-carrying clock-puncher.

Being stuck like this is tough. Your life keeps going on, but you are just going through the motions. You are the autopilot. I've been living this way for most of the past couple of months, just waking up, driving, working, trudging home, then waking up the next day and doing it all over again. The feelings are especially intense this time around because Tom and I are both in the same boat, living in professional doldrums, both wishing we were somewhere else. We've developed a really good "life plan" for the next two or three years. If we can stick to the plan, it'll be really good, but it means two or three years of discipline and a regular income and not doing anything rash like quitting our job and moving out to the country. Not yet.

So every day goes by at a snail's pace and I'm thinking of all I could be doing with life instead of being a clock-puncher, and I'm wishing for things to be different. Maybe I'm learning patience. That would be nice. I hope I'm learning something, something besides fashion tips for the rain-challenged.