Of Rain Worship And Epic Broken-ness

Picture this: A young woman clad in a black sweatshirt and motorcycle boots walks aimlessly along a busy Boston street in a meekly spitting rainstorm, listening to heavy metal on unseen headphones and occasionally letting go the odd impulsive air guitar riff. Unlike the other people walking on the street, this girl has her face turned upward, toward the rain, letting the drops roll down her face. She is euphorically umbrella-less.

Congratulations: You have just imagined the highlight of my evening.

The thing is, I love rain. Love, love, love. Ever since I was a small child, I’ve loved the feeling of rain on my face, the sound of the drops pounding the pavement and windowsills, the presence of an excuse to curl up in an age-old comforter and read a book or watch a movie of no cinematic merit whatsoever. I have often left my house in the middle of the night to find the perfect vantage point to watch a thunderstorm–thankfully for me, the perfect vantage point this afternoon was my front porch.

Unfortunately, the euphoria of the rain has been tempered by the fact that my body is currently an un-symphonic orchestra of “Ow.” Due to an innate clumsiness that rivals that of every idiot sidekick in every bad comedy you’ve ever seen, the weather I love loves me back with a less than gentle touch. You see, I have been a rather frequent victim of barometric old-lady ache since the age of fifteen, when I tripped over my nephew’s trailing ice skate and flew (picture a sack of mortar flying), landing directly on my knees, which promptly swelled to the size of grapefruits and turned a rather morose shade of eggplant. In addition, I just spent a night attempting to sleep on the most brick-like motel bed in existence (I failed) and upon returning home from my rain-soaked walk, I bent to put a 12-pack of soda down beside the refrigerator and when I got up, I managed to smash my right temple directly into the pointy part of the freezer door handle.

Now, picture this: A young woman, barefoot and wearing a black sweatshirt, is slumped in a painful-looking puddle in a papasan chair, watching a movie of no cinematic merit whatsoever.

The second highlight of my day. And now for the ibuprofen binge that will keep me human.


~ by saltgirlspeaks on 17 May, 2007.

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