Ah, sweet California.
Dear California;
It was very kind of you to postpone the rainy season until December to allow me to keep up my normal pattern of walking during my lunch hour. As I am the Rain King, I suppose this is actually a statement of 'it was very kind of me', but you allowed it, so my original choice of words remains. I was not, after all, placing a daily 'no rain today' request; it just went that way.
This being said, I do understand that you need rain to remain a functional state, and I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you were willing to hold off with the wet no later than the middle of December. So I'm really not annoyed that it's raining. Except...
...volume. Did you have to try catching up on all the rain you missed at once?!
I'm barefoot, not because I want to be, but because my shoes are filled with water. My pants are drenched more than halfway to the knee, and I am more than marginally afraid of opening my backpack. This is more wet than should ever descend from the sky outside of a monsoon, and at least monsoons tend to come with cobras.
I am wet and I am not happy.
Moderation in all things, California, and that includes dumping the Pacific Ocean in aerosol form over our heads. Mkay?
Grumpily yours,
Seanan.
It was very kind of you to postpone the rainy season until December to allow me to keep up my normal pattern of walking during my lunch hour. As I am the Rain King, I suppose this is actually a statement of 'it was very kind of me', but you allowed it, so my original choice of words remains. I was not, after all, placing a daily 'no rain today' request; it just went that way.
This being said, I do understand that you need rain to remain a functional state, and I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you were willing to hold off with the wet no later than the middle of December. So I'm really not annoyed that it's raining. Except...
...volume. Did you have to try catching up on all the rain you missed at once?!
I'm barefoot, not because I want to be, but because my shoes are filled with water. My pants are drenched more than halfway to the knee, and I am more than marginally afraid of opening my backpack. This is more wet than should ever descend from the sky outside of a monsoon, and at least monsoons tend to come with cobras.
I am wet and I am not happy.
Moderation in all things, California, and that includes dumping the Pacific Ocean in aerosol form over our heads. Mkay?
Grumpily yours,
Seanan.