It’s raining in Los Angeles. The skies are grey and full of clouds. Water is falling down. First, it was a misty spray as if you were walking by a lawn sprinkler. Then, it was little drops like a shower in the bathroom only more spread out. Finally, it became a constant downpour like water coming out of the kitchen sink.
I am actually happy to see the rain. After recovering from Ireland, I get to experience Ireland-esque weather in Southern California, and I say, bring it. However, I forgot where I left my umbrella---I thought it was under the seat in the car, but it has mysteriously disappeared.
Rain is a very big deal in Los Angeles, and it can even be dangerous. Some people (yeah, you, Beemer driving asshole) forget that they’re driving on wet, slick roads. In the fire areas where there’s no plant life to catch the water, mudslides could form. The water runs off into the ocean, so it is hazardous to swim in coastal waters due to high levels of bacteria.
Still, there’s something about the rain. It washes all of the dust away and makes everything clean and new again. There’s something about the rain. It’s like a baptism into the next thing. There’s something about the rain. It’s a break from the eternal sunshine. It reminds me that the world is changing, and one can start over again and again and again. There’s something about the rain. It’s very wet.
Last night, I tried to fall asleep to the sound of the rain falling on the roof, but I was thinking too much. I shifted from my back to my side, but I was still thinking too much. I opened my eyes. I closed my eyes. I opened my eyes. I knew I was thinking too much, and each drop of rain was an individual thought. Think, think, think, think, the rain splattered onto the roof. I closed my eyes again and thought only of the rain. Slowly I went to sleep.
The rain should be over by Thursday for Game 1 of the Dodgers-Phillies game.