(Metaphorical) Rainy Days

(Marissa)

I broke my wrists this week. Both of them. They're in splints right now, white and scratchy and I have to dictate all of this to my mom. That's why I haven't written.

I got amnesia.

I went to Disney World and Mickey Mouse stole my computer.

He looked so innocent!

I've been in a coma.

Aliens abducted me, ran tests on my blood, thought process and eye color and then dropped me down in Idaho.

President Obama called and asked me to dedicate all my time to a top secret assignment which I'd tell you about... but then I'd have to kill you. And my licence to kill hasn't come in yet.

I want to tell you why I didn't write to you this week, but I didn't feel like it just didn't seem good enough.

The truth is that I've gotten on several times to write. I started two posts. But I am deep, deep in writers block. You know, I've always thought of writers block as a blockade that writers run into, but this week it's felt more like a box. You're inclosed: top, side and bottom. You can't just run around. You're trapped.

Blah.

It's been a really bad week to have writers block. I've got four essays to write today. That I should be writing right now instead of blogging.

Blegh.

So that's why I haven't written to you. It's not because I don't love you. Promise.

I am now eighteen. I have been a senior citizen (get it?... don't look at me like that, bad puns run in my family) for two days and two and a half hours. I don't feel very different. It was a nice birthday, though, one of those days where you wake up feeling good and that feeling somehow survives school. I unwrapped a Grace Kelly dress at breakfast, and that might have helped keep my spirits high.

(For those of you who are so unfortunate as to not know who Grace Kelly is.... don't worry about it. If you don't know who Audrey Hepburn

 is, though, I don't think we can still be friends. Quick! Run out and rent Roman Holiday. But stop it ten minutes before it ends and just listen to me: They all live happily ever after. Really.)

So my birthday was amazing but most of the rest of the week was... it was... it was one big rainy day.

You guys know I love rainy days. I live for them. But on the metaphorical rainy days (the ones where rain drops are made up of troubles the way lemon drops are in Somewhere Over the Rainbow, the ones where stress crushes my head and I wish that the world would just take five while I remind myself how to breath) I have to employ happy tactics.

Happy Tactic Number One:  Think happy thoughts. Peter Pan

(remember him?) inspired me on this one. On sad days I break out my happy thoughts with full force: Ice cream. Rain. Mushrooms. The beach. Creme brule. Grace Kelly dress. Lit class. Pride and Prejudice. Fluffy pillows. Whisks. Earphones. Claire de Lune. Chinese. Cream Puffs. Electricity. Plumbing. Pony tail holders. Jeans. Bubbles... You get the idea.

Happy Tactic Number Two: Happy songs. King of Anything, I Need A Hero (Shrek version), Accidentally in Love, Waka Waka (thanks Sis. Frampton), and You Make Me Happy. Songs to soothe the heart, my friends. Or just give me something to jump up and down to. I find jumping up and down a very good stress reliever. When I don't sprain my ankle or break something.

Happy Tactic Number Three: Youtube. Have I mentioned how much I love youtube? I love youtube. I love it with all my heart and most of my soul. My list of happy hits is You're the Voice Merlin, Peter Bishop Just Being Generally Awesome and Kim Yu Na. Unless you live with me or live two houses down and are named Katie Orr, then you probably don't understand why I love these videos. That's OK. You can find your own videos. Youtube has something for everyone. My dad watches videos of snow in Central Park and how to cut a chicken. Each to their own.

Happy Tactic Number Four: Go to Flickr. Click on Explore and then Last Seven Days Interesting. And you thought the world was a bad place. Psh. How could you have doubted? Look at that little girl's chubby cheeks! Observe the stars and grass and that kid with a dragon fly on his face! I love Flickr. Even though it still likes Katie better than me.

There you go. These are my umbrella's for a rainy day. It disturbs me a little bit that all of them except number one involve the computer. I read too. I just don't have a specific recipe for those. I grab a book off the shelf and open it. Over Fall Break I opened Gone With the Wind and, just like you said, Grandma, I liked it a lot better the second time I read it. But it still frustrates me. The first time I read it I despised Scarlet and would have walked out way before Rhett Butler did, but the book just kept going. The second time I sympathized with her and when Rhett walked out I was upset (even though I knew she deserved it). Does the third time solve this somehow?

I really have to go write essays now.

Over.

Rain, Rain Go Away... No, Wait, Come Back!

(Marissa)

It is Saturday and I owe you all a post. Whoever "you all" are. I just got on Blogger Stats and saw that we've had fifty-one hits from Denmark. Is this normal? Do they (you) speak English in Denmark? Why is everyone there googling Peter Pan? Excuse the questions, my most up to date knowledge from Denmark comes from Hamlet.

Moving on.

I am a rain glutton. If this seems random that's because it is, but that doesn't make it any less true. I love the rain. When there is no rain I dance for it.

I love the smells, the feel of it and the excuse it gives me to unearth my pajama bottoms, pour myself a cup of herbal tea and watch Pride and Prejudice with the knowledge that there is ice cream in the fridge. Seriously. Take a minute and think. Is there a more peaceful scene?

If you just said no then we are soul siblings. Hi!

Anyway, my island has been in a drought for a while now. I find it depressing. It's been weeks since I've seen the Pride and Prejudice Pemberley lake part

and if you know me then you know that bodes extremely ill for my mental health. So this week when I woke up to a grey sky I was ecstatic. I hummed Singing in the Rain while I walked between classes I listened to the sound and smelled the air. Rain makes me happy inside.

That happiness did dry up somewhat when I had to catch the bus. Because, at least around here, catching the bus entails being at the bus stop for a good forty minutes. I mean "good" in the sense of lengthy or substantial, not pleasant, though the waiting period is not necessarily unpleasant. I've had some very interesting conversations in that rickety structure. One conversation with an older lady started with the book in my hand in led on to different ways of being moral, cultural differences and the path to joy.

I'm not kidding. I felt deep. And then I went home and watched and Asian drama and that feeling evaporated fairly quickly, but we'll go into dramas another day.

Going back to the subject at hand, the bus stop is not a place where you want to spend a lot of time when it is raining. It leaks. Where I live, it floods. It didn't Wednesday, but I didn't find that particularly comforting. I know there are people who would stand in the rain and think, "I'm so glad it's not flooding right now," but I am not at that optimistic. The silver lining doesn't shine that bright for me.

I tried to sit, but water on the back of my thighs is not a feeling that I enjoy a great deal. And I was getting rained on. So I stood up. And I was still getting rained on. I did not lay down, but I suspect that the result would have been similar. So I slung my backpack off with the hope that it was water-proof (it's not) and stood there in the rain, leaning down the left side of the street, waiting for the bus's headlights.

I was cold and wet and wishing that I'd just learned how to drive over the summer like parents kept telling me to. (I hate that feeling, by the way. Why do parents have to be so smart? Don't they get tired of it?... Hi, Mom.)

It's funny because I had been wanting rain forever. I'd been craving it the way I crave ice cream. The bad thing about craving weather is that you can't pick it up at the grocery store's frozen section. But it had finally made it's appearance and here I was moaning, wishing that the sun would shine.

I felt like my cat, who, in the middle of the night, will yowl at my window to be let in and then, twenty minutes later, wants to be let out again and makes this wish known by kneading my pillows with her claws.

Today is hot. I just cleaned. Couldn't it rain again?

Make it rain. No, stop! Bring the sun back... Alright, now the rain.

I love the rain.

Except for when I don't. I'm just fickle that way.

Over.