I have always slept best when it is raining or snowing. I have long suspected that it was because from the time I was twelve years old until I got married, I worked on our family farm in the summer. If it rained during the night, it meant that I got to sleep in because you can’t do most tasks on the farm if it rained. So precipitation at night was always a good thing.
I’ve been having trouble sleeping the past month. Part of the problem is my allergy meds wear off in the night, even though they’re supposed to be good for 24 hours. But the rest is my usual summer insomnia. I wake up in the middle of the night, the ADHD circuits begin to coruscate, and I’m left wandering these dark halls, staring into a bright computer monitor, or just tossing and turning. After a couple hours I can get back to sleep again but the damage is done.
It just starting raining. Thunderstorms are sweeping in from Montana and you can smell the sweet violence building in the air. The cats are all inside, safe and warm. Daniel was the last to come in but all are in beds, crashed around the house. Hodge, who is now taking a probiotic three times a day, feels particularly good and has commandeered one of the dog’s beds, with his fat black buddy a few feet away. Carjo works at her immense digital recipe catalog. And I’m writing in my office, listening to the first drops of rain hit the window while some electronic jazz plays.
I’m getting very close to the end of this book. I have made substantial changes in the last few weeks, all in an effort to tighten the plot and ratchet the tension. It’s working. Last night I thought of a solution to something in the book that was a bit cliched. So the little pieces are coming together, like the thunderheads gathering above us.
I suspect I will sleep well tonight.