Rain and Repetition

A drop fell onto the window, sliding down the glass material, leaving a streak following it from behind.

And then another fell, continuing on in the same pattern.

Then another and another and another. Soon it was a steady stream, endlessly pouring down the window, washing away the grime but making it blurry to see outside.

There was the usually steady hum of traffic as it flew past but somehow mixed with the sound of rain pattering onto the leaves was entrancing. The rain sounded like gentle scratches, like one tapping at a fast but steady pace on a hard book cover, specifically an encyclopedia. It was like fingers were tapping along my brain and scratching it and hitting the right spots.

It lulled me into a state of thoughtlessness, where there was nothing but the window and the drops as they cried their way down to the windowsill. I was so charmed, the sound of the rain almost faded away even though it was still pouring down with as much fever as before. Almost faded away. But then the sound gently rose back up in a subtle, natural motion.

As I refocused on the sound, my eyes slowly readjusted and they themselves focused on what was beyond the water stream and soon made out a faint yellow glow from across the street. It came from the neighbours house and I lay my arms across the sill and rested my chin there as I idly watched the light, wondering what they were doing up considering it was the wee hours of the morning. Sure, other people were up as evidence of myself and the traffic hum, but I was always curious what each individual’s motivation was to be wakeful at this state in between midnight and dawn.

Were they heading home after being at the pub or the club?

Needing the toilet?

Craving a sneaky little snack?

Myself? I wasn’t woken up, I’ve been awake since before the night fell, tapping away at my computer screen, hoping to create a story out of the ideas that have been bouncing around my head for six years. I turn away from the window and look at the wall directly across from me that is covered in notes and sketches of my story plotting that are all pinned to one gigantic map.

It’s a map of my book’s world.

All drawn and painted by hand.

One of my greatest accomplishments. The first thing I did when I started getting story ideas. No words, just images…smells…vibes…so I picked up at a paintbrush and since then I’ve been trying to create what I sense in my head to fit in with the world I created.

“What quests lay idly amongst such lands that are merely waiting to be explored? Fuccckkkk I wish I was an elf or a knight or something!” I grumble as I close my laptop, no longer able to handle the blue light.

As a kid I was always going into the back of my parents closet hoping that Aslan would call me to save Narnia.

Until I watched The Conjuring as a teenager, that suffocated any desire to step into a wardrobe ever again. But it did not quench my desire to draw and write and create kingdoms and lands for other fair travelers stuck in this capitalist realm to temporarily teleport themselves to.

Cause screw this world. If it’s just about working for someone else, grinding away for people in power that only care about what influence they can wield to benefit them, trying to earn money to immediately lose it to pay for the basic needs and commodities everyone has, while also enabling the system to only benefit certain types of people while excluding so many others – if that’s all we’re meant to do in this realm, in this life, then we should leave and find another one.

Even if we have to create it ourselves.

I let out a loud yawn. But that’s gonna have to wait just one more day cause right now, I need sleep.

~

“Excuse me?”

I look up as I pour the milk into the takeaway cup and see a young woman. She’s a walking Instagram clean girl aesthetic advertisement – long blonde hair slicked back so much that either she put in a lot of gel or it was just that greasy; minimal makeup such as some blush that was placed subtly enough that you almost wouldn’t pick up on it, a little mascara and I guessed either lip oil or a sheer lip gloss and a beige suit with one bracelet and a gold heart necklace, her phone and a folder tucked underneath her arm.

I want to be put together like that, but I just work as a barista, man, do not earn enough to take care of my appearance other than making sure I shower, brush my hair, clean my teeth and put on deodorant?

…okay I don’t have to be that honest with you, I suppose…I look presentable and smell nice, if I do say so myself and that’s all you have to know.

Glancing back down to make sure I have not spilled anything, I pause what I’m doing just long enough to quickly give an apologetic smile and ask the lady “Hey, welcome to The Muffin Man! How can I help you?”

She scoffs lightly, her eyes widening slightly like I do when I’m trying to not say my rude, intrusive thoughts out loud. “I would like to order…I don’t know if you knew that even though I’m standing by the till where you’re supposed to be.”

Actually no, I’m meant to be making coffee, Sammy is meant to be on the till, though I don’t know where they are right now, probably in the toilet or on a smoke break?

Doesn’t matter, I need to get this coffee done cause the old man who ordered it is always impatient and has been yelling a lot recently so I just want to give him his coffee so he can leave.

“I’ll be with you in a minute, I just have to finish this coffee that I was in the middle of making when you walked in.” I hadn’t meant to be passive aggressive, but it tends to slip out when customers are assholes.

Sprinkling the chocolate powder on top of the coffee, I grab a lid that I’ve already scribbled the man’s name on and make sure it’s securely on before calling out the order. The man takes it, grumbling and complaining the whole time, which I ignore as I head over to deal with the Instagram influencer wanna-be.

“What can I get you?”

~

“See you later boss!” I call out seven hours later as I head out the door, the doorbell’s jingling drowning out my employer’s farewell. I shiver as I feel the sharp sting of the air around me, even though I’m rugged up – gloves, thick coat and even remembered to bring my earmuffs this time.

Fumbling for my car keys, I notice my breath coming out in visible white puffs and can’t help but chuckle and open my mouth wider, letting out a bigger breathe.

It was always fun to do.

Finally locating my keys, I let myself into my car and start the ignition, throwing my purse and phone into the passenger seat behind me.

Finally.

Heading home was pretty uneventful, just had to deal with the usually mind-numbing traffic as everyone else was also either finishing work or heading to do a nightshift depending on what type of work they had.

Once I am home, I change into some comfy pjs and slippers before reheating some leftovers and making a cup of Mango and Strawberry flavoured tea. I then settle into the couch and put on a random TV channel and zone out as I munch on my food.

This will go on for about two hours before I will then do my dishes and then head up to my room for another night of writing and patchy sleep before heading to my job again the next day.

Hopefully one day I can just write.

That would be nice, making my own hours.

But until then, this is my life, my schedule – work, write, sleep, eat. Get paid, get groceries, put into savings. Repeat.

Again and again and again.

Even though the savings always end up being used on some emergency, that one unexpected thing that somehow manages to spring up on you like a sudden health crisis, something going wrong with the car or the house.

But that’s how it is for everyone and probably will always be.

~

Hey, thank you for reading!