And Then The Rain Fell

I had the day off and I spent it feeling sorry for myself. I felt sorry for myself while I was brushing my teeth, while I was laying listless in bed, while I changed into a fresh pair of pajamas and then again when I spilled my coffee on my pants. I felt sorry for myself when no one called or texted, when my dogs didn’t come when they were called, when we were out of yogurt and once more when I dropped half of my muffin butter side down on the ground. I felt sorry for myself without really knowing how or for what reason. I felt sorry for myself and after awhile it felt disturbingly good to wallow in it. I began to think that this parasitic mood draining all my energy and motivation might take some getting used to, but I could live with it. I could adjust. The way one might adjust to a bum leg or a hearing loss. Inconvenient, granted, but not completely debilitating.

Around noon I was shuffling around my house in sweatpants and avoiding the mirrors when the air changed. It wasn’t clear at first what was different. A sudden chill and goosebumps erupted on my arms. A cross breeze through the wide open windows and I could breathe again. I had been shaking my fist at the weather reports all day when just like that, when I least expected it, the sky opened up and the rain fell.

I ran down the stairs, swung round the banister my sock feet sliding on the hardwood, and pitched myself out the backdoor. It was there underneath the crying sky that I began to feel better. Raindrops coursed down my upturned face, slid behind my ears and over my lips in a tiny waterfall that ran beneath my tongue. The rain fell in thick sheets plastering my hair to my head and my clothes to my body. It pinged off the tin roof of the neighbour’s shed and encased the busy streets in a heavy silence. It rained as if the clouds had been storing up molecules specifically for this release. For this last show. It rained as if the rain meant something, though what, I could not quite determine. After awhile my skin grew cold and clammy and I began to feel ridiculous  so I retreated back inside. Soaking wet and no further along than I had been before. Leaving a trail of sodden footprints up the stairs.

Later, with the burn of tears behind my eyes, I would recall the cool blurring of the rain as it bathed my cheeks and clung to my eyelashes. The droplets tracing light paths across my skin with phantom fingertips; reminding me what it felt like to be touched. The loneliness exploding in pins and needles through my chest. The aching in my heart coaxed free by the beauty in nature and the fiction in life colliding finally in one bittersweet warning.


17 thoughts on “And Then The Rain Fell”

  1. That was really good. More focused than your other stuff, I think. Better in some ways. More punch, less finesse, but very good. I loved the detail and phrasing of sock feet, the use of pinged.

    1. I like how you picked out specific details like that. We’ve already discussed how I wasn’t sure about this post, how I thought it might be overdone…

  2. You aren’t alone…. I think there are nearly 30 of us in very similar predicaments.

    and this is just on the west coast!

  3. What an author.

    There are two kinds of people in this world: the kind of person who thrusts herself outside to shake a deflating depression by ensconsing herself in the comfort and thrill of a rainstorm

    and the kind of person who obsessively ruminates about his damp basement.

    The world needs more of the former.

    1. Of course, if we didn’t have the latter the world might flood completely to cheers and dancing in the rain-filled streets. Someone should stay grounded and worry about the consequences. Someone has to. So, someone like you balances out the world for someone like me.

  4. I doubt you’d ever get used to wallowing in it. You’d begin to like the wallowing and relish it for it’s self-indulging comfort and, before you knew it, you’d feel great about feeling sorry for yourself. Your pity party for one would be a blast!
    Like a punching dummy, our subconscious is always trying to right ourselves. Sometimes, there’s too much weighing us down and getting back up is impossible… but the muffin butter-side down is probably not there yet 😉
    Great post, loved it and then I just made all this shit up. But really, you got me thinking. Glad Mr. London Street recommended you.

    1. I think I am a little bit in love with your comments. Hilarious.

      I think I have actually met people like the ones you are describing who enjoy feeling sorry for themselves so much that you question whether or not they are actually legitimately depressed or just addicted to the wallowing and complaining.

      Sometimes when I’m really depressed I want to listen to that terrible Chumbawamba song “I Get Knocked Down” or whatever it was. You remember. You can’t exactly wallow when you are blasting that crap.

  5. god is in the rain. i don’t know if you’ve ever seen “v for vendetta” but there’s a scene just like this in the movie.

    it’s raining here now and it’s weird that you posted this because while i’m going through something similar to this, i’m taking refuge in the pitter patter of the rain against my windows and my bedroom roof while wishing i was outside in the rain.

    i find i’m always more relaxed and at peace when it rains.

    this was a beautiful post. i really like this one.

    1. The rain has always had this kind of affect on me. I am one of those people who hears a weather report and gets noticeably brighter when I hear it’s going to rain. There is something so beautiful and intimate about it. There is a reason some of the most romantic scenes in movies take place in the rain.

  6. With monsieur Eric on this one. Much punchier; quite refreshing actually…!

    *pencils in ‘try more creative writing’ in his diary*

  7. Nothing beats lying down on the grass during a thunderstorm. That feeling of being pounded by tolerable specks of nature’s rage. And when dogs, cats and hedgehogs bound from under the scant shelter of bushes and trees and dive under your thighs, it’s like being at Alton Towers.

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