rain=brussel sprouts.

I detest brussel sprouts. My feelings about rain, then, are obvious.

However, because we’re all about self-psychoanalysis on here, and because gritting my teeth each and every rainy day (and subsequently ruining my teeth, in the process?) is getting old, I need to figure out why I’m so anti-rain.

(It will rain all week. All week. I seriously considered finding a therapist.)

Is it the clouds? I’m in love with the sun. I’m in love with light. I’m in love with a shiny, sparkly day, and when that is stolen away from me because of those voluminous things that hang above my head, I gets angry. And so, so sleepy. The clouds invariably steal my energy. And my will to wake up and be an active participant for the day.

Is it the black sky? The sky was meant to be blue. Or coral-y and golden and pink, as the sun is setting. Those are the only hues I will accept. I cannot accept the foreboding and queasiness that come with a black sky. I naturally want to hide under the covers and stop thinking about stories I read by Edgar Allan Poe.

Is it the umbrella? Kudos to the inventor of the mighty umbrella. Thanks for that. Unfortunately, the umbrella rarely works for me. I struggle with it because I’m sugar and cannot melt, which means the rain cannot touch one part of my skin, but I never succeed in my struggle. Small or large, the umbrella usually gets blown every which way by the wind, which gets me wet, which gets me angry, which has me shaking my fists at the heavens. (I do this mentally, as directing fists toward the sky does not bode well in public.)

Is it the mood? It gets me down. Enough said.

Is it the memory? I went for a walk one day. It was sunny and beautiful. At the beginning. Moments later, the sky turned black, the voluminous clouds appeared above my terrified head, and I.was.drenched. Literally, I was heavy with rain. Worse, as I slowly made my way back home, I was repeatedly splashed with puddles from the nearby street, courtesy of drivers that threw caution to the wind and were driving like mad. (And clearly gave no heed to hydroplaning, not that I wished that on them or anything…)

So…

This brief list has done nothing for pychoanalysis. I hate the rain even more. I am reminded of why I grit my teeth, why I think of brussel sprouts and every other cursed thing, why…

But, for the sake of positive thinking (since I do that negative thinking stuff so, so well)–

Flowers grow.

Dry, rough ground is saturated.

The animals on the ground need a shower, too.

The sound  of rain (when I’m safely inside, or trying to fall asleep) is simply amazing and does wonders.

Um, thinking of more…

There are plenty of awesome songs about rain, which is a good thing. One of my favorites:

“Laughter in the Rain,” Neil Sedaka. Soft rock goodness.

Cute raincoats, which is always a plus.

Despite my little cold heart, there’s something kind of romantic about walking in the rain with your beloved other, I guess. I mean, I would have to be fully covered, but I get it.

So, there are six great things about the rain, which outnumber the five facts things I listed in the beginning. Not bad. I can’t be blamed, however, for shaking my fists at the sky as this rainy week progresses, though.

For my readers, what do you particularly enjoy about the rain? Or do you even enjoy the rain?

At least…gritting teeth..at least the flowers are growing.

Today’s weather.

Falling On My Head Like a Tragedy…

It rained cows and elephants this past Saturday. It rained so hard that upon slipping off my shoes, I was horrified to see that my heels (not the shoe heels, but my physical heels) had turned green! It was unbelievable. Umbrellas were in vain–the crazy wind was driving the rain into the umbrella. I was completely soaked. Despite my car getting one of the best washes of her little life, Tropical Hanna was in no mood for games for Saturday. Everyone was equally reminded, I’m sure, that the weather can be mind-blowing.

At the end of the day, after all of that rain, the sun was softly shining and the atmosphere was beaming. Uncommonly beautiful. Sigh. It’s the never-ending cycle. My appreciation for rain will come one day, I tell you, completely under duress and completely as a result of moments like that: when the atmosphere, post-rain, looks like a jewel.

That was Saturday.