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.