I love thunderstorms. They make me all "Eeeeeheeheeeee!!!", and fill me with this strange, dark, anxious sense of hope. Something's HAPPENING out there/up there, wherever, and I can watch it, I can hear it, and I am a part of the thrill of its occurrence and the relief of its inevitable passing.

I remember sitting with friends one summer, on the living room sofa in the haunted Vermont farmhouse where we all lived, resting against each other while a tremendous storm buffeted the centuries-old building. There is a story that, one summer, during a thunderstorm, all of the doors and windows in that house began wildly flapping open and shut until the storm passed, presumably by the ghosts in the house who liked to fuck with the residents. The man who told me that story was prone not only to hyperbole but to outright lying, but the thunder story is one I like to believe. A thunderstorm is spiritual party-time.

Those Vermont summers were blessed by many such cozy, manic storms.

The cat is not so fond of thunderstorms, however. Poor Ziggy had never before experienced Zeus's wrath, so he darted back and forth between his spot by my feet and his spot under the bed, his little eyes alternating glances from the window to my face all the while.

"What's this? What's this? It's LOUD!"

Poor kid. He's okay now, and happily scratching the hell out of the wall, his claws making a gleeful scree that makes me cringe. Nope, here he comes to rub against my legs. Hiya, Zigs.

That's all I got right now.

Sleeeeeeeepy.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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