(no subject)
There is something about waking up to heavy water drops on your head. Rolling over, and finding your sheets soaked, your blankets accumulating puddles. And this is nothing new, so you get up and lay towels over your bed and try to sleep.
There is something about trying to sleep and becoming suddenly and acutely aware of the methodic tapping of a dozen water drops on your carpet, soaking tiny discolored circles over the clothes you wore the night before and the textbooks fanning out over the floor. It makes you sit up in bed.
There is something about the familiar feeling of running back and forth from your kitchen to your bedroom, carrying plastic bowls. Until you can sit in the middle of twenty or thirty and multiplying, as your roof begins to rain. It is a Saturday morning and it's not yet ten o' clock.
There is something about the feeling you get when everything in your room is pushed to the left side; when you are holding a cloth to your wall to prevent all the pictures from soaking. When you are constantly finding new pools, and all your letters are bleeding and your alarm clock is dripping and your little brother is taking laps up and down the hall, screaming, "Thirty-two! Make that thirty-three! Make that thirty-four! I forgot the bathroom -- forty!"
There is something about being in the middle of a roofing job and being asleep on a Saturday morning and being unfortunate enough to encounter the rain that wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow. And it absolutely feels like any second now, the entire house will cave in and collapse on us.
This isn't poetic, but you guys, this really, really sucks.
There is something about trying to sleep and becoming suddenly and acutely aware of the methodic tapping of a dozen water drops on your carpet, soaking tiny discolored circles over the clothes you wore the night before and the textbooks fanning out over the floor. It makes you sit up in bed.
There is something about the familiar feeling of running back and forth from your kitchen to your bedroom, carrying plastic bowls. Until you can sit in the middle of twenty or thirty and multiplying, as your roof begins to rain. It is a Saturday morning and it's not yet ten o' clock.
There is something about the feeling you get when everything in your room is pushed to the left side; when you are holding a cloth to your wall to prevent all the pictures from soaking. When you are constantly finding new pools, and all your letters are bleeding and your alarm clock is dripping and your little brother is taking laps up and down the hall, screaming, "Thirty-two! Make that thirty-three! Make that thirty-four! I forgot the bathroom -- forty!"
There is something about being in the middle of a roofing job and being asleep on a Saturday morning and being unfortunate enough to encounter the rain that wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow. And it absolutely feels like any second now, the entire house will cave in and collapse on us.
This isn't poetic, but you guys, this really, really sucks.