I am happy when it rains

(Not from today; today was darker and more severe, albeit, surprisingly, without thunderstorm.)

The last time it rained around here has not been terribly long; it must have been a couple of weeks ago.  It was not terribly memorable because nothing happened to me during the times of tumulus weather (unlike that last time when my car decided to play slalom) aside from going out to dinner with my friends, though.  Perhaps that is why I felt as though it has been forever since it last rained.

I like the rain.  As long as I do not have to drive, I like the rain; the dust settles, smog is gone, and for a while, I get to breathe fresh air (with a touch of earthy smell that is undoubtedly dirt and dust.  It also reminds me of the days of my childhood, where it rains a lot more than it does here.  In the summer, there is a rainy season; in fall, there is hurricane season.  Fun times indeed.  I will also say that the same reason for nostalgia brings out the nightmares that come bundled with it.  Childhood, for me,  was a bundle of misery, packaged so that I cannot taste it as much, like a candy-coated bitter pill.

It is one of those days when I want to just walk around aimlessly, soaked, with not a care for the world—not hunched over like homeless, hurrying like a businessman, or stooped like a collegiate.  Perhaps I want to make up for the lost early days that I could have had.  Instead I went to the convenience store, asked for the umbrella I could buy but the lady told me to borrow one of hers (“you remind me of my son, so why not? Just bring it back when you come back to school,” she said).  With a big, sturdy umbrella over me, I went to the library and began to study for midterm.  So here I am.

I could write more and romanticize about the day, but instead worldly worries cloud over me.  How will the traffic be en route to home? Will I be all right with the midterm? Do I have enough money to fix up the car later?  Will tomorrow be cold?  To add to that, the Red Cross asked for blood donation.  Despite my hurting arm and series of needle scars, I did not refuse. I do not want to do it, it harms me, and yet here I am.

Enough ranting, though. I have a midterm to study.