Bed Weather

I love the rain. It’s my favorite kind of precipitation. When the sky turns a bit gray and the clouds start obscuring the sun… I get a bit more cheerful. When my nose tickles with the faint smell of rain… I get a little bit excited. There’s just something about rain that touches me, and, no, not just physically because that’s a given, but something deep inside… down to my very soul. Or is it my inner child?

 

Well, in any case, I love the rain, especially great big thunder storms. It’s exciting and thrilling and powerful. The air crackles with so much energy yet, at the same time, makes me feel lethargic and sedentary. It makes for fantastic bed weather! It’s my time to grab a bunch of good books (and DVDs), set them beside my bed, stock up on basic pantry fare and microwaveable meals, and snuggle up in bed for some rest and relaxation. Of course, it would be great if you could snuggle up with someone other than your imagination and a fictional character, but, hey, I’m not one to complain. I like my own company.

 

Unfortunately, as all good fantasies and wishes go, reality smacks us upside the head with a gentle sledgehammer. So, despite the lovely bed weather of gray skies, rain lashing on my windows, and the air temperature lowered to cool my skin, I throw back my blanket and get my ass out of bed. I find myself trudging to the bathroom to relieve myself, take a shower, and perform my ritual oral hygiene. After these ministrations, I pick out clothes to wear, don them, and then check my bookshelves (and the floor beside my bed) for a book (or two) I’d like to read (or reread in some cases). Soon enough, I find myself ambling out of my flat, locking up, and flinging myself into the death chamber masquerading as an elevator. After my quick dalliance with death --- willingly locking yourself in a metal enclosure that’s suspended in mid-air, albeit only five floors up, while said encasement is held up by thin metal cables is like tempting death to dance the hula in front of you --- I break free and make my way out of my building to head to --- yup, you guessed it --- work.

 

I have no need for umbrellas. They are cumbersome, annoying, and distracting. It gets in the way of rain falling on your skin (or your clothes) and soaking you all the way to your bones. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s a dangerous weapon to have around. You can poke a person in the eye and blind him for life if you don’t open it properly and all business-like. Your arm can get tugged off forcefully as you keep an iron grip onto the handle as the wind blows hard upon it. Not to mention that it causes a girl in a skirt to ungracefully contort her body as she tries to manage her umbrella’s errant behavior of flipping its canopy inside-out while she’s desperately holding on to the remnants of her shredded dignity. (So, women who insist on wearing those dresses and skirts with soft, chiffon-y material knowing that they are bound to scrimmage with wind and rain are pretty stupid in my opinion.) Besides, it’s not at all a sexy maneuver. And I, for one, wouldn’t want my Mr. Darcy to come strolling along (whistling a tune while basking and enjoying the wet weather himself) to find me in an unglamorous state of dishevelment. L’horreur!

 

Anyway, rain. I love rain. I think I’ve mentioned that several times already throughout my ramblings today. Who cares? I love rain. And yes, I am aware of the irony of it all. I love rain and my name is Sunny.