It is 106° right now as I sit on my back porch listening to the spray of the misters trying their best but failing to cool me off. A pre-storm wind has come up blowing the masses of tiny droplets away from me. It’s alright, they would evaporate the second they touched my skin anyway. One of my Little’s arm floaties rolls across the patio like a tumbleweed across the dusty plains as a desert dove coos in a nearby tree. The heat somehow feels very lonely.
106° actually isn’t that bad. We hit 117° not too long ago and I remember as a child when the temps reached 122°! The grocery stores sold tee-shirts boasting, “I survived 122°”. They were usually found next to six packs of commemorative Phoenix Suns Coke bottles. I’m pretty sure my mom still has some of those bottles still tucked away in the back of her hand-made china cabinet. She loved collecting things she thought would be of value someday – every newspaper about Princess Diana’s death, Beanie Babies, those painted plates that were big in the 80’s – the problem was she never knew when to sell them, so she just kept them all.
The clouds on the horizon have deepened from a cheery fluffy white to one ominous mass of cobalt blue. I’m still skeptical. “They” have been saying it’s going to rain for days now. It has not.
I was surprised at my bitterness over the lack of precipitation as my husband, Little, and I wandered around an antique store today. We were walking past a booth filled with perfect specimens reflecting the Shabby Chic era when my husband heard the weather forecast over a near by radio, “30 percent chance of rain!” Without thinking I snapped, “Which means it won’t! They forecast 50 percent chance and it doesn’t rain!” He smiled and just kept walking.
What is it about the rain that I so desperately need? I read an article saying INFJ’s get overwhelmed by outside stimuli easily, maybe the sun is too bright or too many people have talked to them in a short period of time. But when it rains it’s almost like there is a ceiling on the sky, a blanket of sorts we can wrap around ourselves and tell ourselves everything is going to be alright.
Being an INFJ I feel all these things. The sun gets so bright I can almost hear it buzzing in my ears, I can only handle so much social interaction before I just want to crawl under my bed and cry, and sometimes I can’t stand under the vast open skies of Arizona for fear that I might just float away lost forever in their brilliant blue.
Life has been a bit of a struggle lately. For various reasons I feel like my quality of life and livelihood are in other people’s hands. (No, it’s not my husband. He’s awesome, an occasional butthead, my very best friend, and our Little’s hero). It’s waiting on the Dr. to hear if I have an iron deficiency meanwhile feeling like crap unable to do much of anything. It’s waiting to hear if I’ll have a client to work with in August because we need the income but no one is returning my emails. There are a few other things compounding my unease.
I’ve done what I can and now I’ll just have to wait. I hate waiting.
But if it rains? If the thunderheads rumble above my house shaking the windows and make my cat skittish? If the lightning flashes danger and brilliance across the purple sky? If the rain falls hard and heavy soaking the dead grass in my yard, beating against the gritty shingles on my roof? Then I’ll somehow be able to wrap that blanket around myself and say, “It’s all going to be alright.”
I just heard thunder.