So it’s been muggy all day and kinda cloudy. Not my favorite. And I’m suffering from some kind of mild ague wherein I crack a sweat about fifty times a day.
No, it’s not hormones. Shut up.
Okay it might be. Shut up again. But it might be something else, so shut up some more. And wipe that look off your face. Jeez.
Tonight there is lightning, and thunder, and it’s raining. We have a new window that opens out under the covered patio and now we can hear the soothing sounds of the rain pattering on the corrugated fiberglass roof, which is a good thing because The Lovely Rhonda does not care for this kind of thing. Neither does the dog, so he’s huddled beneath the table we sit head-to-head at while we’re computing. Earlier he met me in the kitchen, and by “met me” I mean that he bolted into the corner behind me and tried to look nonchalant. “It’s cool, it’s cool,” he said, with his eyes. “Yeah, no, I’m not wild about thunder but it’s cool, I’m fine, just, you know, hanging out. Hey, is that chicken?” He doesn’t love thunder but he’s into poultry. Can’t fault a dog for trying.
I used to hate storms when I was young because I associated them with The Worst Thing In The Whole Entire World, which was the power going out. I hated the way the appliances sat all dull and lifeless, especially the TV. I was worried the power would never come back on. It was unnaturally quiet and dark. It just wasn’t right. I’m not sure what changed that but now I love a good storm. Granted, we don’t get severe storms and I’m sure I’d feel a whole lot different if we did, but I live on a hill so there’s no fear of flooding, the power rarely goes out even with a big storm, and they’re rare enough here that it’s a novelty to have one.
So I say, “WOAH!” while TLR grits her teeth and whispers “Cheese and crackers!” and sighs heavily through her nostrils when a big thunderclap hits. And I mentally review where the candles are (do we have any matches anymore?) and I listen to the rain outside and I’m glad to be alive on a night like this.