steady downpour

The rain just fell like nobody’s business today and I was updating some apps on my phone and my laptop after lunch and the next thing I knew, I had woken up and most of the afternoon was gone.

The rain was heavy and strong. It got nice and chilly and I have been doing a lot of writing on my bed a lot and while I was waiting for the updates, I must’ve just dozed off. The steady downpour formed a rhythm that lulled me to sleep. Now it’s dark and my dad, mom, and I are watching The Godfather again but this time it’s the Criterion collection with edited scenes and a commentary.

Obviously, that’s going to take all evening, for sure, so I pretty much wasted today. I’ve been working really slowly, as of late. I’ve been doing a lot of prep work and I was expecting to do some real work today — real writing — but I didn’t get into it.


just a photo I found online on Google search and while it isn’t exactly the photo of rain that I would have wanted to show, it’s a pretty picture

I had just finished writing a script for a web series I’m a part of and I’m wondering if I can’t just jump from one project to the next as quickly as I used to. These passion projects are not the same as commissioned work. Back in 2012, I was juggling five scripts at the same time and managing to do so pretty well. I knew exactly what the directors wanted from me on each script so I had clear guidelines and directions.

But the projects I’m involved with now are passion projects — work that has so much of me in it that quite a lot of the direction and guidelines have to come from me. I’m wondering if this has anything to do with the inability to just jump straight into it. Like, I’m scared about not being able to be good enough. Can I only do work for other people or can I make my own stories come to life?

I don’t know. Now it’s completely dark, the way it is on November and it had been raining and the darkness outside my window is sticky. What a strange description for darkness. Sticky. But it is. As if light has to struggle to pierce through it.

The rain is now just a drizzle and I can hear individual drops landing on the roof and on the large flat leaves of some of our trees in the garden. There’s a hazy glow that covers the light sources on the street and on the gates.

I remember, as a child, I used to play and dance in the rain. We don’t do that anymore. I miss that. The care-free spirit. The freedom. I used to love the rain. I thought the very nature of it, water falling from the heavens, was such a poetic thing. Now I’m frightened of it. It affects my moods and it ushers in a nostalgia of simpler times.

I gotta start getting back into my writing groove.

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