The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.
There is something about purposefully wandering about in a downpour into the late hours of the night, then finally coming home well after two in the morning to peel your soaking jeans off your skin and curl up under the covers that's wonderfully invigorating- even at an age when one is supposed to be sensible and have matured quite beyond such pointless activities.
What can I possibly say? I love the rain. It makes me feel like I'm ten years old. True, the last three hours might have been better spent doing homework and studying for that midterm I'm stressed about- but walking through a deserted campus, with the sound of water pouring onto my umbrella and the feel of the cold, stray drops gradually drenching me through my clothes, temporarily washed a couple years of stress away. And that - even if the elevated mood only lasts until the morning - is rare enough to make it justifiable.
What can I possibly say? I love the rain. It makes me feel like I'm ten years old. True, the last three hours might have been better spent doing homework and studying for that midterm I'm stressed about- but walking through a deserted campus, with the sound of water pouring onto my umbrella and the feel of the cold, stray drops gradually drenching me through my clothes, temporarily washed a couple years of stress away. And that - even if the elevated mood only lasts until the morning - is rare enough to make it justifiable.