Building 11 “A Call For Storms”

There is a storm coming in that is supposed to be one of the worst of the season. There have been a lot of storms lately, more than are usually the case, and it leaves me wondering if it is a sign of things to come.

I am not normally someone who buys into symbols, signs, and all the rest of that shit, but living here just...gives you a fair bit of skepticism about reality as we see it. I am not saying I am religious or spiritual or even anything remotely close to anything other than a skeptic, but I can't deny that sometimes these storms seem to spring out of me.

It is like I know they are going to happen before they happen, even more than the leaves going belly up or the smell of worms or anything like that.

Maybe I am just looking for signs of something going on, because to be fair it has been hard going on with business as usual with all that has been going on the last few months.

Today was different though.

About halfway to the museum the sky just opened up on me and everyone else. I remember checking the weather that morning and seeing that the chance for precipitation was somewhere around ten percent, yet when it started to rain it ended up raining like it had been preparing to pour for weeks.

By the time I managed to get to work, my clothes were soaked through and my whole body was chilled. If it wasn't for one of the new girls having a spare set of clothes (she was apparently supposed to go on a date that night but it didn't pan out) I would have been stuck in wet clothes the whole day. Something about that just feels weird to me.

But maybe I am over-thinking it.

It is true that maybe it is all coincidence, that what I am looking for may just be me grasping for meaning after my friend died and I was left unable to find any reason in it, but I don't think so. This feeling of serendipity has been building up in me for weeks, and I am only now starting to notice it. I guess I always assumed I was just weird for liking the museum, for wanting to work here ever since I was little.

But I have reread the other emails I have sent you. There is more to it than just that. There is a sense to it, something pleasing in the smell and in the displays that seems to just fit into place in ways that seem impossible or improbable. Like the improbability of a girl coming to work with a change of clothes for a date of all things, instead of changing at home .

A girl with clothes that seem to be just the right size for me.

I may be just tired and overwrought. The whole past few weeks have been a mess for me, and maybe I am looking for meaning in nonsense and coincidence.

Am I wrong to not be sure?

Like, what is the likelihood that you and I would end up talking, two people halfway across the world from one another, yet with so much in common.

My mom would have claimed that there was plan and that this would be me tapping into that plan, whatever the hell that may be, but I don't think that is it. I have to really give this some thought or I am going to drive myself crazy, but something about everything feels like I am scratching at something I am not seeing yet, and I just don't know what it is.

Maybe I know already, and I just don't want to admit it to myself.

I look out my window and I can see the storm closing in, the white of the clouds sullied by the dark gray of the storm. If I were to go to the other side of my house and look out the window, I am sure that the sky would look peaceful, if overcast. But from my window I can see the dark of the clouds and can smell the moisture in the air.

The leaves are going belly up, just like always, and I am waiting for the smell of the worms to rise up once the rain starts, as they make a mad dash to escape of the confines of the damp earth. But that isn't the smell I am picking up right now.

And to my surprise for the first time I don't feel offended by it.

Maybe it is the scent of the trees and the rain mixing in that has tempered my reaction and allowed me to experience it without being overwhelmed by revulsion and terror.

It is the smell of ink and sewage, wafting up from the base of my window. I look about casually, looking for the source of it, and I think maybe I am losing it a little bit.

I look down, and notice there is dirt under my nails,

and I work to work it out, to separate it from the base.

But the dirt is not dirt. The nail

Is it a nail?

The dirt is not dirt.

The dirt smells like ink and sewage.

There is ink and sewage under the nail.

I don't know. I have tried to work it out, but it just seems stuck there. I think it stained the nail or something. That makes a lot more sense than anything else, or at least it is enough to sate my curiosity.

I am glad I am able to talk to you about these things, though to be honest I wish I could talk to someone closer to home. Maybe dad or one of my co workers, but I don't think that is something I can do. We just aren't close, my coworkers and I, and I don't want Dad to worry.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Send some more pictures.