They don't get me down. In fact, I relish hearing raindrops tapping at my picture window. Though I can't take a whole night of it, even the zydeco-reflective percussion of drops hitting my washtub/icechest housed on the patio stirs something within me. Someting in between want and waiting waits for me on a rainy Monday.
Yesterday, Houston wasn't alowed its usual denial that we are indeed a tropical climate, flat and without the necessary outlets for water to flow. After a deluge that reached into the teens, streets were now rivers, cars were boats, and people were . . . not always wise.
Having learned from my past experience when I floated down Shepherd in my Toyota, I took the new VW home as soon as possible. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon safe and dry.
Or at least as safe as my reflections and imagination would allow.
What is it about being confined that prompts thoughts of release? What is it in me that takes the gift of a free day and does little to redeem it? Why does being alone cause me to want the opposite?
I'm surrounded by people who would drop everything to come to my aid. I have no question regarding my status as friend. Yet, when given the perfect opportunity to ask for what I want, I hesitate. And then ask the one person who can't say yes.
Rainy days and Mondays . . . may not get me down but they do bring down a deluge of self-doubt. Glad the sun is out today.