When It Rains It Pours?

It's been raining for days. Yesterday I rode my bike to the gym and worked out until the rain eased up. It still didn't stop, but it calmed to a drizzle for enough time for me to ride home. I was almost excited to ride in the rain, as it is a pleasure of mine I don't often give myself. I don't want to ruin my bikes, I don't want to get hurt, I have convinced myself that I don't actually like riding in the rain because it is so often talked about in negative connotations. Regardless, I spent two and a half, three hours at the gym yesterday. Ran three miles, did 50 sit-ups, 25 leg-lifts, and some other stomach exercises for 15-second intervals, stretched for 15 minutes, and did the stair master thingy for 13 minutes. There were also times factored in where I had to go outside to retreive my bike from the brutalizing rain outside, refill my water bottle, etc.



After the gym, after showering, after sending out more resumes and applications, I helped Courtney make tomato sauce. After coming in from the garden to teach her how to use the juicer, the sky got hellishly dark in a matter of second, and then the rains came. The deafening rain. Derek Wilcott described such rains, as the have in Trinidad, as a drawer of knives pulled out too quickly. I called Evan and asked if he'd like a ride home, as he's ridden his bike 15 miles to Castle Shannon for work (both of us have been getting restless in this domestication and foul weather and home-bodiedness to which I've become accustomed during this sad summer). He offered to trade the ride home for dinner somewhere, so I put on my black dress with the white polka-dots and the ribbon around the waste, filled the gas tank (I hadn't driven in weeks, save for Evan borrowing it to go to his house, and my driving us to Dingle's house on two recent rainy days), and took off. The ride was uneventful as ever, save for the mixtapes and the regular excitement of traffic on roads out of the city, where the buildings change slightly and there's more to which to pay attention.



Upon leaving the bike shop, however, we made it about a block away from the shop, toward's Mayhew's house, and the "check engine" lit dimly as the car lost power and drifted to a stop by the side of the rode, just across the train tracks.



"Maybe it's a computer thing and the car will start again in a few minutes," Evan suggested, hope buzzing like a swarm of flies.



Waited a few minutes, tried again. Nothing.



The rain wasn't monumental, so I popped the hood and Evan took a look. I was mainly concerned that the fan belt had finally snapped. Not because it is expensive to fix, but because it is something I should have fixed a while ago and have been too cheap to bother. The fan belt was as dry-rotted and intact as ever. The rain started coming harder, so after checking the parts we both know at least a little about, he got back in the car and made a few phone calls to the people we were supposed to meet and his mom, who lives in the area. I called AAA, he called his mechanic, and we waited in the bike shop for the tow truck to arrive.



"Maybe something just got saturated from the rain. Cars have been breaking down all day from this weather," he gargled through the downpour. I apologized for making him come out in the rain, but for someone who'd been out working when I called Evan, or when I was in the gym, the rain of the evening was a mist. Still though, we saw everything through silver slivers of water, reflections off everything else. I took off Evan's glasses, as they were too splashed to be of any help.



Another helpful remark buzzing around uselessly, to be swatted by reality as the tow driver said:



"Nope, nothing's wet. "Nothing wet enough to stop the car. Not that I can fix, anwyay."



I handed over my key, registration, and insurance and Evan unpacked his bike and other belongings from the back seat. We walked back to the bike shop, soggy and sullen.



There's something about this summer. I easily want to cry. But I know my own emotional strength, what I should and shouldn't be able to handle, and I stop myself. Sometimes I can't say anything at all, sometimes I just smile, but I don't cry. I can't. When I want to cry, it's not for something that usually would spark such honest emotion. There's something deeper in me.



Evan's mom picks us up at the bike shop and takes us home. We all chat for a while, then Evan and I take his mom's car and go out for a pizza.



"I think this is my Bummer Summer," I confide, remembering Missy's blog post about how this is decidedly not her "bummer summer." We are in the car, on our way, finally, to dinner. I can talk now, having processed and feeling out of control enough to not need to try to regain control. I talk slowly, in stages. "I don't know if I am being reacting reasonably, emotionally, to the stages in my life, or if hormones are playing a part. What happened pre-Trinidad? What was I like? I don't remember anything before coming home, and Trinidad plays out like a movie, very detached."



We broke my summer down. Over-stimulating trip to a foreign country with strangers. Two suicides and a fatal accident, which I heard about all at once, upon returning to the country. Feeling horribly insulted by the bike industry as a whole in Pittsburgh, namely by the company for whom I formerly worked. Being unemployed, unable to find a job in my field, feeling at once broke, helpless, and unsuited make a living as a writer. Turning 25 is a big step, too. So I don't have a job and my classes are over, I don't have a large circle of friends here and have not had the drive to call people since I am already emotionally exhausted and even the thought of devoting an entire night to someone with whom I am not totally comfortable sitting around doing nothing with is draining. I have been trying to preoccupy myself instead by looking for a *real* job, taking care of adult issues (going to the doctor, the dentist, the eye doctor, getting my blood tested, etc), and doing very domestic things like moving into a nice house, cooking big meals every day, washing my sheets (damn), etc. I feel like I am turning into an adult when it is most important for me to "keep it real." But what is keeping it real, anyway, when I feel like the whole world is masked, when I find punks as boring, for the most part, as normal people, when all I really want to do is ride my bike around town all day and bird watch in the park, but it rains everyday and now my car's broken down so to go anywhere I must get soaked?



"And summers are always so epic for me," I add. "They're always the most fun, the most exhausting, entirely fulfilling and exciting."



"It seems like in the past you've filled your time to the brim and have over-exerted yourself to deal with the hard parts of your life you can't face. And now that you're life has slowed down, you are dealing with everything, and it's overwhelming, on top of all the pressures of this summer. I think the emotional weight would make anyone feel down."



I am satisfied. I feel better. Having someone in my life who nonjudgementally understands me, who is separate enough from my past(s) to be able to break things down without being emotionally involved past his care for me, is a blessing. By the time we get back to the car, I am back to my old self as best as I can be, making conversation about the randomness of the universe, the quirkiness of every-day people.



"This is one of the things that makes me never understand you. We just had a heavy talk about all these horrible things you're dealing with, how awful you feel every day, and here you are making jokes in the garage and smiling at me through those stormy eyes."



"Well, life's not really so bad." I smile and turn before I start thinking again and lost the momentum of happiness.




I change into some old clothes of his and we cozy up on the couch to watch TV and eat greasy pizza. I feel like I'm in junior high at a sleep over. In baggy pajamas at someone's mom's house. I think she even paid for the pizza. We tried to sleep on his tiny twin bed, but it just didn't work. Evan slept on the floor. Slumber Party.



I still haven't heard from the mechanics, save for that my car did make it to their shop. I did just get a call about my glasses. They are in, both pairs, but I have to drive in the rain to get to them. We've hit another lull in weather, and hopefully it will last until I get out there and back.



Really, life's not so bad at all. I just gotta deal with things one stage at a time.