Rain, Rain...

I really love the rain. I love to play in it. I love the clean smell it leaves behind. I love how it can cool even the warmest of summer nights. I love waking up the next day after a rainstorm and seeing how green and alive everything is. I love the sound of it against the windows and skylight in our bathroom. I love the rain; it makes me all cozy and introspective. I really think I should live in the Pacific Northwest I love the rain so much.

And we had the mother of all rain storms last night. It let loose just after we finally got the kids to bed with its wind and hail and rivers of water flowing off our roof. And it continued for most of the night with that level of intensity. But for whatever reason, being all wound up about not getting this job or worrying about The Girl or thinking about what I was going to do next or whatever, in conjunction with the severity of this particular rain storm, I suddenly found myself really, really irritated with the rain.

Irritated that whoever designed our house directed the second level gutter drainage right at the front door so it leaks and is slowly sinking into our doorstep. Irritated that the soft pitter patter that usually emanates from rain drops hitting our skylight turned into a loud, obnoxious din, thus keeping me awake for half the night. Irritated that today my internet and phone service are all screwed up, and yes, I am blaming it on the rain. Irritated that our recently clean dogs are now caked with mud and matted fur.

I’m well aware that I may very well be playing the rain for a scapegoat. That all of this irritation and lack of sleep could very well have nothing to do with the rain and much more to do with being disappointed, nervous and out of answers.

But regardless of whether the rain is simply an innocent bystander or a tangible illustration of my own mind state, if it’s going to stick around, I wish it would wash away the irritation while it’s at it.

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