Dear Diary

Waiting for the sun to come out

I should be reborn. At the very least, I should feel reborn, this being my first creative effort after Easter. And Easter being the season of re-creation and all. But, nope. I feel pretty much the same.

Many things seem as bleak as they did last week Thursday. If my problems have shifted, then they have done so imperceptibly. My mind cannot discern the lessening of the load. But perceptible or not, the winds of change did indeed sweep across my consciousness, bringing a transformation that should show itself presently. In the meantime, a convoluted thought process is providing an unwanted distraction. Consciously, it does appear that the season of rebirth failed to fulfil its rebirthing mandate.

But in the shadowy realms of my subconscious, I sense that change is coming. I’m hoping that this particular cycle of change will bring less rain and more sunshine! It’s been pouring down with rain at every opportunity, pretty much in keeping with predictions of the meteorological department. I remember with much amusement, hearing a forecast on the radio before the heavens opened up with a vengeance.

The forecaster said there would be rain. Sometimes a lot of rain. Sometimes a little rain. But there would be rain. And bless her heart, she was right. There has been rain. It hasn’t been a lot. And it certainly hasn’t been a little. It’s been torrential. But I suppose the Met department had no way of knowing that, because it is the job of Met departments across the globe to be as clueless as the rest of us.

The result in this particular scenario is that we’ve all been wading to and from work in one way or the other. Studies have shown that employees who endure hours of traffic on their commute to work are less productive than those who don’t. God only knows what happens when you add torrential rain to the mix. I’m guessing that current productivity levels are only comparable to those legendary Form Four results. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

And so it is that my first creative effort after the season of re-creation is a thinly veiled attempt to explain why I have made a valiant effort but the creativity is absent. What can I say? It’s probably lying somewhere in the darkest corner of my mind, drenched to the bone, shivering uncontrollably while praying for the sun to come out again. I have to tell you, I’m praying too!