Let it come down, and wash away the miasma that has clouded our judgment.

Enjoying the weekend storm safely indoors. I awoke literally sick to my stomach, after about two days of moping due to the idea that my transferable-skills approach to the past three and a half years of my university education has culminated in the most disappointing way. "Just because you majored in it doesn't mean it's what you'll do!" "Pick something you like, and the rest takes care of itself!" In hindsight: it doesn't. Even now, I carry this vague idea of who I want to be, without actually fleshing out the details. I was probably the last person anyone would bet on being a slacker, and yet here I am. I chose one of the most vaguely describable majors on the menu, knowing full well that I disliked a lack of clarity. What does a communications major do? I still couldn't tell you, other than the same tripe about analyzing how media affects society and vice versa, the same sentence I've uttered a million times, like the directions to the University Hall visitor parking lot, the same exact thing that make you cringe as they come out of your mouth, that don't go any easier when you try to reword it in some fresh new way.

Outside, the rain carried on, without any sign of hesitation. Nature didn't have the problem of self-doubt, hesitation that froze into inaction; it had a singular purpose in its actions, whether it was to recycle condensation back to terra firma or to move excessively inconvenient pockets of air across the land. Inside, things were still. Maybe I'd imagined that it would've been pleasant to listen to this with someone else. But some things are not meant for sharing. Sharing is what you do with commonly enjoyable things that are accepted readily, like party invitations, and cheap beer. This bit of stillness, of quiet but steady solace, in all its lengthened brevity, belongs to me. Alone.