Blame it on the Rain, Part II

I was going to write a post about the rain. The never-ending, energy-draining, mind-numbing, havoc-wreaking rain. The rain that has gone on for at least a week now and is predicted to go on for at least another.

I was going to write about how I can’t seem to think or talk about anything else – and as just about every conversation I’ve had in the past four days has referenced the rain in some way, I’m clearly not the only one. How everywhere I go, I only see weary grey faces, exhausted bodies bracing themselves with their umbrellas flying every which way, hair dripping and pants sopping. How this town, already famous for its, um, unfriendliness, has gotten downright surly.

I was going to write about how it has felt like it was 6pm for about, oh, 120 hours now. How I’ve almost forgotten what sunlight feels like. How I can’t wake up in the morning and I’m ready for bed by 2pm. How, once home for the day or in for the weekend, I can’t make myself leave the house, be it to run errands, do my laundry, buy food, or socialize.

I was going to write about how I’m sick of carrying my umbrella around, and I’m sick of deciding, each morning, which pair of pants I feel like soaking in puddles today. I’m sick of frizzy bad hair days and schlumpy shoes. I’m sick of cars spraying me with water as they past – bastards! – and the T being over-crowded, damp, and dirty.

I was going to write about how bitter I am, that May seems to be a month lost to me. My favorite month, ruined. How I’m bitter that I’m still sleeping in sweatshirts and shivering under my blankets because my roommates feel that it’s simply ridiculous to turn the heat on in May (and it is!) even though it’s 59 degrees in my room. How I’m bitter that I survived the long, cold, wet winter with a minimum of complaints, only to be teased with a scant few beautiful, sunshiny days…and then to have my hopes and dreams of a lovely spring crushed by weeks and weeks of torrential downpours.

I was going to write about how, this time last year, I was in India, where it hadn’t rained for at least four months. And, yep, I complained…I complained about the 110 degree heat, heat that knocked you on your ass from at least 10am till 4pm every day, leaving you exhausted, dehydrated (no matter how much water you drank), dripping with sweat and unable to leave your bed or the fan blowing on you (at least until the electricity went out). I longed for rain clouds and rain puddles, for cool water falling on my face and a respite from the endless sun and heat. Oh, I had no idea how good I had it.

I was going to write about how I want to leave, how I can think of nothing but leaving. How I am longing, longing, to be somewhere there is sun, and flowers, and smiling people. How I am cursing my choice to move to New England - New England! - when I could have moved anywhere I wanted. Why didn't I pick California? Or DC? Or, you know, India? Who cares that I moved to a city with culture and restaurants and vitality and friends and energy and life? I'm not enjoying any of it. All I'm doing is sitting in my cold, over-priced apartment cursing the rain. I could do that for a lot less money almost anywhere else.

I was going to write about all of this, primarily because I cannot think of anything else.

But then, this morning, Brian McGrory did it for me.

At least I know I'm not the only one.