Rainy Day– it’s raining outside

I should be working on my 20 page paper. Or I should be reading Virginia Woolf for class tomorrow. I should go tidy the kitchen, and maybe vacuum my room too. But this hasn’t been much of a week for doing what I should do. Mostly its been, well to be honest, an avoidance week. I stayed at work late a lot, partly because I had lots to prepare for training (part of my new position!) but mostly because I just didn’t want to come home. When I came home I ate a bit of dinner, then retreated to my room to watch various TV episodes online while “researching” for my 20 page paper. To be honest, I actually got a lot of stuff read yesterday to help me out. For some reason, home just didn’t feel like the peaceful home I needed. But that really isn’t the point of my writing today. I really intend to write about my calendar.

Yes, my calendar. Before you quit reading and recommend a psychiatrist for me– well just keep reading. I won this calendar at a work conference I went to in South Dakota during October. I was BY FAR the youngest person in attendance, but hey, luck was with me and I won a prize! There was more than just a calendar in the basket, but hey, I ate most of that stuff already. So the calendar; well, it’s a Utah calendar. And today I realized that I needed to turn the page from March to April. And honestly, as I flipped the page and jammed my push-pin back into the wall, I was hit with the beauty of the image and its parallelism to my current situation.

Poised atop a red rock cliff, the winding blue river unfolds like a sapphire ribbon, whimmering below. A golden sun peeks along the edge of the horizon, its rays reaching and radiating out from the white hot center. It lights the entire sky with a hazy golden wash, hinting at the promise of the day. (I think it is a rising sun.) You can almost feel the cold dawn breeze whipping at your hair as you gaze across the vista. It is beautiful. It is anticipation. It is natural. It is hope. It is my life.

I feel like I am standing on that ridge at Flaming Gorge, watching the sun rise into my life. Now there’s a double entendre. Light is pushing away the darkness of the cold desert night, piercing it through like a sword in hopes of its eternal eradication. My stomach jumps a bit, perhaps from my relationship with heights– perhaps from anticipation. I close my eyes, soaking in the faint warmth that promises to increase exponentially. And when I open my eyes, I will see without doubt the portending future.

Dawn is breaking.