Rain, rain, go away

I feel as though it's been raining for years, although surely if that were true we would have adapted better by now. When I left DC Saturday morning, the rain came down in thick, unslanting, sheets, requiring me to set my wipers on the fastest speed. As I headed west the drops shrank and then stopped, and the fabric of sky cover thinned, turning from opaque grey wool to cotton batting then into gauze so filmy eventually it tore, revealing bright blue above. Grey settled back in Sunday morning, however, and now that I'm back in my away-from-parents home, the wet seems to have returned, too. Or perhaps it never left.
Mostly it's putting me in a foul mood. None of the wispy warm summer droplets now. It's rain so cold and heavy it pushes you out of the way. Made running last night after I got back undesirable, biking in to work impractical. When I am inactive I get grumpy; if inactivity is not by my choice then I turn into a completely hateful bitch. Outta my way. But no, our servers are down at work so everyone thinks it's social hour and my office is the parlor. Bah.
I turn to a poet beloved in childhood for a funnier take on the crazy-making weather:


I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

Shel Silverstein


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