Rain Rain

Rain rain come today, wash all my cares away. Let me forget the sins of yesterday, Rain rain come today.

The rain pours down upon my face, comforting me with its cool embrace.

            Rain poured down from the heavens and wind whipped through the trees. Sam sat by the large window in the living room, staring outside, mesmerized by the rain. To him, rain was dramatic, it changed the way the neighborhood looked, it changed the smell in the air and it always brought a refreshing cool breeze with it. Sam stared out at the rain, wishing he could go outside. He wanted nothing more than to be right there in the middle of it all every time it rained.

            Sam was always sick, at least as long as he could remember. So not only did he have to deal with normal parental restrictions of not going out in the rain or playing in the mud, he also had the extra worry that kept him from doing other fun things, like running around, or playing outside all day. Sam started into a coughing fit. Pain struck through his head and chest. His cat Kuro ran to his side and began to purr frantically to comfort the small boy. Sam stared out at the rain, loving the sound, smell and sight of it all. The gentle sound of raindrops falling on the roof mixed with Kuro purring lulled Sam into a relaxed state.

            So many people complain about the rain. It makes driving difficult sometimes and if your clothes get soaked it can ruin the rest of your day, but to a small child staring outside at the majesty of nature, none of that mattered. On his worst days and sickest nights Sam would hold onto Kuro and imagine the sound of rain outside. Even as Sam grew older, he loved rain. He couldn’t describe it and many people didn’t understand, but that wasn’t important. It didn’t change his love for rain or the glee he felt every time he heard a crackle of thunder or a sprinkling of raindrops.

Writers block

            Edward Stitch scratched his head as he tried to think. He sat impatiently at his typewriter, a cigarette burning between his first and middle fingers on his left hand. Smoke swirled through the air, rising ever upward until it disappeared completely. Ed’s editor was expecting another book sometime that year but Ed was having a tough time coming up with ideas. Ed had short cut black hair and brown eyes, he wore a buttoned up white shirt that was only half buttoned and had a crushed collar.  Since he was at home he wasn’t wearing pants, just boxers.

            Edward stretched out, wondering how much longer he could delay is writing and how much longer this infernal writers block would last. Ed let out a loud sigh and reached for his drink. He drank down his mix of whiskey, soda and half melted ice. Determined to write something he began typing away. He hoped as he wrote, something would come to him. He hoped to get a brilliant idea. He just needed one idea, then he could build on it more and more until he had a book.

            “The toughest part of writing is getting that first sentence” Ed grumbled. He typed on his typewriter for a few minutes. Trying out different ideas and plots. “Sam was a builder by trade…” Edward began to write. “No, that wont do” he muttered, then pulled the paper out of the machine and crumbled it up. “Think, think!” he said, bumping his fist against his forehead. The cigarette he held with that hand sprinkled ash all over his desk. Edward sprang up and wiped the ashes off before anything was burnt. Then he continued to bump his forehead with his fist, but with his other hand, as to not make a mess or burn his house down with stray ashes.

            Ed felt like he had hit a wall and couldn’t get around it. The next step was to plow through it, keep trying things until something works. “Such difficult work requires another drink!” Edward announced and got up from his desk and walked to the kitchen. His bare feet slapped against the tile in his kitchen. The chill in the air that night settled on the tile, making every step through the kitchen make Edward wish he wore socks more often. Or had slippers just to walk through the kitchen with.

            After a few minutes Ed returned to his desk and sat down with a fresh drink. He cracked his knuckles and began to type again. Whether he finished by the deadline or not, it didn’t matter. Writing was his passion, it was his work and his hobby. He loved it and hated it all at the same time. Trying to write when he had no ideas or worrying about editing was like torture but being able to write pages and pages after being struck with a good idea was his ultimate joy. As long as he had his typewriter and a working mind, he would continue to write.

Anger

Anger throbs in my head. It has its own heartbeat. On a daily basis I keep it at bay. Like a caged animal locked away, I keep it from the world. We live in a civilized world. There is no need for thoughts of violence. Yet, here I am. A ‘normal’ guy, polite and kind hearted, some would say even happy. I hold onto this anger. It is not polite to yell and against the law to kill, but what should I do? Every fiber in my being urges me to fight, urges me to kill. The world is a harsh place and those who say otherwise are lying to themselves.

I try everything. I let it go, I hold back, I breath deeply, calm myself, see things from the other persons point of view and I bite my tongue. I have been biting my tongue so much that its starting to bleed. Idiots, lowbrow knuckle draggers feel the same anger, how do they survive? Lord knows they don’t have self-control. The eleven kids and daily addictions prove that. Either they are too stupid to realize how fucked up the world is, or having sex with everything in sight and drinking every night keeps them too preoccupied to be angry. Then again, I see plenty of angry people, some drink, some don’t, some have kids, and some don’t.

I wonder what is the source of my anger and why is it so difficult to control? I pray for peace, I don’t want to be angry, but the anger is there. Like a voice that keeps telling me to lose control. Oh how good it would feel. This anger voice is not alone. How many of our bad traits have its own voice. Too much eating, sex or alcohol, gambling and anger to name a few. How seductive the voice “Go for it, its what you want”. A religious person might say it’s the devil, I don’t believe this. how easy it would be to say it’s the devil and he is tempting you. No, this voice is you. It’s the deep part of your brain that doesn’t reason, it wants what it wants. It’s the animal in you that has no regard for anything else. This isn’t evil, its nature. So when you hear the voice, the urge to let go, its just your own voice, echoing what you really want. Which means I am fighting myself. I don’t know how much will power I have left sometimes. The urge is always there, its constant.

In Christian religion there are seven deadly sins. Lust, Greed, Pride, Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, and Wrath. Everyone has a little of each seven. How often have you been slothful? Not wanting to get out of bed, or off the couch. Moving is a pain, make someone else do it. Or envious? Smith from work has the latest Iphone and you are stuck with a little cheap phone that barely gets service. His has games and apps, yours has an address book and maybe a clock. I feel every single sin a little of each every so often. Humans embrace sin and so they feel the burden of it. I used the think my sin was Lust. How lonely I was and sex was all I could think about. That was just hormones. My whole life, the real sin for me was Wrath. I remember being five and having indescribable anger. I didn’t know why I felt it or how to handle it. I just remember from an early age. I wanted to hurt things. I wanted others to hurt as much as I did.

I’ve found some resemblance of peace since then, I can control myself and am in constant control. But the anger is there. Its my oldest friend. Crohn’s disease and anger, my two buddies. They both sit and wait for me to slip up. Then they strike. Every day is a new challenge, every day I hear the whispers from angers cage. “let me out, I can help you” says the seductive voice, and maybe some day, I will.