The suburbs always were so rainy lately. It was like the clouds were emotionally attached to staying, and their mission in life was only to make everyone else miserable. Of course, there are those crazy people who thrive on rain and thunder, but I would call them a bit too optimistic. It’s amazing that anyone could be so happy when it’s dreary and cold, two things I rather consider to be the antithesis of happiness, more like synonyms of depression and the definition of sadness.
I consider myself a happy person. But those days when it’s cloudy outside and it feels like the sun will never come back up are some of my worst. Never have I believed in some sort of “emotion influenced by the stars” or astrology, but I think there is definitely something about the weather that can really change how people feel. If not people, then surely myself.
When I sit in my house, alone on the black leather couch, listening to a podcast, I feel probably the most alone I ever feel. It’s kind of like a sort of haze; when I’m in those sort of moods, the ability to write is gone. My mind rushes with all these crazy, perhaps even philosophical thoughts but never have I written them down. Those days are just like a dead time, not much is ever produced from them.
They seem to happen so often, too. I consider myself an optimist, but on those days – they always seem to be Saturdays – it’s like there isn’t much to really be happy about. Generally, I don’t think I’m good with too much free time. My best work always seems to be done when it’s not convenient. I study for Latin class during other classes, it’s like this strange sort of rush that helps me remember things. When I’m home, there is no rush. It’s always so easygoing, that’s it’s hard to really convince myself that there is something I immediately need to do. I always write a lot during classes and right about when I’m supposed to go to bed. Leisure, at least to me, is not very conducive to getting stuff done. I’m more content playing video games and listening to music then to actually accomplish something.
It seems like going out of the house would fix my problem, since outside of home is where everything seems to come together. The problem with this solution is, being an extreme introvert, I don’t enjoy leaving the house as much as others. Hanging out with friends for more than a day wipes me out, the next day I recede back into my laziness, happily and willingly.
I think the main point of this sort of strange, stream-of- consciousness-type essay thing is that I truly do like rainy days and I like being an introvert. The sound of rain hitting windows and the earth is soothing, but being alone in the grey light from the clouds still remains depressing. And being alone at the same time is still so comforting, more preferable than to be around a lot of people constantly. I think my main point of all this is more of a love letter, a sort of love letter to introvertism.
Adjectival Literature 