I stood in the middle of a thunderstorm the other day, getting soaked but not minding much. It was scarier only five minutes earlier when the sky was grey and the wind whipped viciously, lobbing hail like confetti at a freakshow wedding. I really thought that a tornado was about to touch down as the sky was green, and I couldn't see the river anymore from my office window. The building had been empty, as most were done with convocation and had left for other places. I was alone in my wing of the university, as I usually am these summer days.
Storms used to scare the hell out of me, but not any more. In fact, the forcefulness of the weather thrills me now, when I used to be afraid of the sheer power. I don't know why, but I feel more alive when it's dangerous... I'm sure that says something about me, but I'm not going to bother giving that much thought.
Work is like a storm, these days. A funnel of activity, followed by a few days of calm and then back in the vortex again. I like it, but sometimes I long for a more drone-like existence. I envy my sister who works on the other side of the river. She's in work at exactly 8:30 am, gets 2 fifteen minute breaks and a full hour. She's got benefits and a nice-sized paycheck. I, floating under the banner of an 'associated' university worker have no coverage, no equal pay, no union representation. But I do get to roam the theatre and remember past productions, and I can shine a spotlight upon myself any damned time I want to.
I've got free reign these days, and being unsupervised is nicer than having someone look over my shoulder. Less observation has its drawbacks, as I work long hours just to keep up. I hate grantwriting, I've discovered, and am drawing a slow conclusion that I might as well write some for myself and see where that takes me. God bless Canada for it's tremendous arts support system. A nicely drawn plan can gather enough coin to live on for awhile. But, as always, there must be a finished product. I can't stand deadlines, so maybe it's not for me after all.
My girl is tall, tall, tall. Her legs are long, the kind I used to dream of having. She's still got her chameleon eyes that are everchanging from blue to green to hazel to grey. She's thisclose to being a teenager in looks, and it's beginning to scare me, too. I feel on edge of the world with her... I want to keep her from growing, but I am starting to value her self-reliance and am grateful for a bit of 'me time' more regularly. She's got a social life now, and I get to do my own thing quite often, while she has playdates, clubs, and afterschool sporting events.
I wish it would rain again. It's been thundering all evening here and there. I'd like to face it again.