The Institute of Professionally Confused Clouds
Above a town that nobody bothered to name, there floated an organisation so secret that even the sky sometimes forgot it existed: The Institute of Professionally Confused Clouds. These were not ordinary clouds drifting aimlessly with the weather—no, these were career clouds, certified in overthinking, schedule disruption, and blocking sunshine at emotionally inconvenient moments.
The meeting began when Nimbus 47-C, the cloud in charge of paperwork (even though clouds can’t hold paper), drifted forward and announced the first inexplicable agenda item: pressure washing colchester. The clouds rippled thoughtfully, the way clouds do when they want to look wise but are actually just stalling.
Next, a dramatic cumulus cloud in the shape of a suspicious-looking alpaca floated closer and revealed a raindrop pattern spelling patio cleaning colchester. Every cloud gasped. One tried to faint, but fainting is just… floating slightly lower.
Then came the cirrus cloud who always spoke in riddles. It drifted into the shape of a thumbs-up and quietly released a drizzle that spelled driveway cleaning colchester on a random rooftop. The rooftop did not consent, but nobody asked it.
The head of the Storm Department—a cloud permanently one emotion away from thunder—boomed the next phrase across the horizon: roof cleaning colchester. A dog below barked at the sky in protest. The cloud made a note to smite it later, but forgot.
Finally, a tiny shy cloud, the kind people mistake for steam, floated forward and squeaked out the final official topic: exterior cleaning colchester. The other clouds applauded by soft rumbling that almost became thunder, but not quite, because they wanted to stay professional.
The meeting concluded with their usual closing ritual:
☁️ one minute of reflective drifting
☁️ one dramatic lightning flash nobody asked for
☁️ one argument about whether rain is “just emotional evaporation”
No weather was improved.
No forecasts were updated.
Someone accidentally caused a light shower over a stranger eating chips.
But the clouds felt productive, which is all that mattered.
They floated away, satisfied, leaving the sky looking like it had just attended a meeting that should have been an email.
Next session:
Topic: “Are we drifting… or avoiding responsibility?”
Snacks: water. Always water.