Yesterday was my birthday. I spent the rainy morning driving my daughter and her friends to their first high school orientation. The afternoon was spent at the dentist with my kids. That’s all fine. I’m not a child (by any stretch of the imagination) and don’t need a big fanfare on the day.
Today I dropped my son at school for camp, my daughter at her school, then drove across the city in pouring rain to spend time with a friend. What she met at her front door was a tired, angry person, ready to fight anyone and everyone. Someone willing to punch, kick and scream at the world for all its ugliness.
Sometimes life is just not fair. No amount of talking about karma, putting it out to the universe, prayer, whatever, will change that. Sometimes it rains for what seems like days and weeks and months at a time. The feeling of sun is forgotten. Given the situation in the Philippines and typhoon Haiyan, a bit of rain should not bother me, but today it is. I won’t patronise anyone reading this with first world problem comments, an obscenely privileged phrase if ever there was one. I’m just pointing out, to myself as much as anyone else, that really, a bit of rain is nothing to complain about.
The rain suits my black mood. Perhaps it’s me who is bringing this downpour. Yes. Appears as well as being in the darkest of moods I now have a god complex, I can, among other things, control the weather. Apparently.
If I rage against the rain long enough, I can blame the weather for my horrid mood. I don’t need to assume any actual responsibility for my behaviour. This was my thinking today. This was the mood that my friend opened her front door to. Lucky woman.
After brunch and some good coffee, she took me to have my nails done. A small thing, but a thing none the less. She sat by me and entertained me with highlights from twitter and instagram. She sat by me and didn’t talk anymore of the big ugly that is making me so angry. We talked about the weather. We frightened a woman a few weeks away from having her first child. Confirming what we already knew; we are now officially women of a certain age who accost strangers in a nail salon, wishing them well on their impending bundle of joy.
While we talked, my hands were massaged. If I could have stayed there all day, eyes closed, I would have. The closeness of a friend, the hand to hand contact with a stranger, slowly massaging the darkness away.
On the drive home I listened to podcasts of writers in conversation. The rain fell, wipers worked across the windscreen, and words filled the interior space. The constant patter on the roof, the muffled splash of puddles, the honesty of writers talking, took over. Waiting at the lights, I admired my nails. Smiled. Realised after all the world is only as ugly as I let it be. That is enough for me, for today. Let it rain.
photo credit: visualpanic via photopin cc