Thunderstorms and Seeing Your Therapist In Public

One of those things I love, desperately.

And it’s not seeing my therapist in public.


It’s just awkward.

Like, oh, let me tell you about all the times I got punched in the heart by the people I loved most in the world.

And then later…

Oh, hey, yeah. Frosted Flakes are great. I’m so glad we’re both at Tops right now buying cereal.

So amazing.

I mean, it’s bound to happen in a town this size. But that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable.

Know what sucks even harder than having to see them doing things that normal humans do? Like buy cereal?

Interviewing them for work. And pretending you don’t know that they know all of your stupid shit.

Because believe it or not, this blog is like the antechamber of a really messed up rabbit hole.

Dual relationships are dumb.

It’s fine.


It’s actually a good story. But ugh.


In other news.

We had our first major thunderstorm tonight. It’s been so humid and disgusting I’ve wanted to just die. The humidity didn’t even cut when it rained. It was bananas.

But it was still a good storm. I don’t know what the physics of it is…I know there must be some sort of electric something happening, but I’ll be damned if I can explain it. But I love the smell of the air during a thunderstorm. I love the way the entire world seems to tear in half during a nice big crack of thunder. I love, love, love the way an enormous shock of lightning turns the whole world, for a few fractions of a second, into a photo negative of itself.

More than anything I love the colors. I love the black-lavender heaviness of a good thunder cloud, all thick and distended with rain, and I love how the rain just crashes through, all at once, and rushes down on everything, on us, like each drop is racing every other to some magnificent prize.

I love nothing more than curling up chin-deep in my blankets and listening to the rain pour down on the roof above me. There is something positively amniotic in the comfort that context carries with it.

Harper was terrified, after I picked her up from mom’s, after the awkward late-afternoon interview from hell.

I get it. It’s weird how something so wild and unhinged as a raging thunderstorm is one of the only things that decreases my anxiety. It’s the strangest thing. Like the madness of it is so familiar and soothing.

I have no idea what that says about me. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to either.

Other weird things that seem to do the trick? Lead dental vests, the crushing hug of a Spanx bodysuit (congratulations, you can never unknow that now) and the weight of a heavy comforter.

I totally understand how dogs are comforted by thunder jackets. I just find the thunder to be the anxiolytic for me rather than the trigger.



I love to listen to (completely platonic) audios as I fall asleep. Cool accents or voices with a texture are engaging enough to keep me from perseverative thinking but soothing enough to let me drift off. I love rambles and reading.

Storytelling is my kryptonite.

But I also love love live ocean cams:

That’s one of my favorites not for the view but for the sound. That’s the actual sound of a living reef, that clicking. Along with the slurp of the swell it’s one of my favorite sounds of all time.

I love the snow in this one, and the crack of a campfire.

I’ve fallen asleep to this thunderstorm more than once.

I wish it would start to storm again.

Why do I like the most threatening and uncomfortable weather events?

So weird.

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