The rain has finally let up. It's been going non-stop (sometimes a gentle pitter patter, sometimes heavy with gusting winds) since Monday night. And it's amazing how rain can affect the psyche in so many different ways.
For me, it depends on the kind of rain. For the past few days it's been chilly, windy and grey. At first, it made me feel cozy and snuggly. All I wanted to do was wrap up in blankets, close the blinds and watch movies or read a good book. The weather outside was so cold it made me want to bake something, just to fill the house with warmth and good smells. But as the days and hours progressed, I grew sick of the chill, the dampness, the lack of reprieve. I grew cranky and ill-tempered, annoyed every time I looked out the window and saw nothing but grey and drizzle.
As it turns out, there's really only one kind of rain that I enjoy and that's a summer thunderstorm. You know what I mean. I'm talking about the kind of storm that erupts after days of sickeningly sweet heat. The kind of storm where the rain feels warm on your skin, where the sky lights up with lightening and thunder echoes menacingly through the walls. These are the storms where I open the blinds, turn off the lights and watch it all play out. Where the only lights I'll allow are candles because I like the way the flames flicker and dance.
Unfortunately, the last few days have not been like this. They've been miserable and cold and wet. Even now, with the rain finally gone, the days remain cold. The sun is remote in the sky, refusing to share her warmth. It doesn't feel like May, that's for sure. At least the rain has stopped for now. We can dry out and cross our fingers that soon the days will warm up again and summer will be around to stay. Cause honestly, I don't know if my husband can take another grumpy, rainy day me. (Not that I blame him)