- I’m grateful for our friends. We’re watching Remus & Romulus tonight while Dee and Bran go out on a date. Kidling is joyous, and there’s a feeling of warm contentment seeping throughout the house as the boys play video games, I do my homework, and John browses the internet on my Galaxy Tab.
- I’m grateful John quit smoking. I have(n’t), too. I have and I haven’t. I smoke fewer cigarettes and in lower frequency. I go several months at a time without smoking at all. I buy a pack and smoke maybe 5 cigarettes and then forget about it and they all go stale or I give them away. I’m glad that my intermittent smoking isn’t dragging John back in, and I’m glad that John isn’t smoking because I would be smoking so much more if he were still smoking. So I’m grateful John quit smoking, because it’s better for all of us. With any luck, I’ll get lung cancer, too, and then John’s family will finally be happy with something I’ve done!
- I’m grateful for my stupid cats. I love how Dmitri does that meerkat thing. He’s doing it now. John let a moth in the house, and I think Dmitri is trying to figure out how to walk on the ceiling to get it.
- I’m grateful for my bosses. Bosses Appreciation Day is coming up, and for the first time ever, I actually want to do something for my bosses. Also for the first time ever, my bosses aren’t pathetically attempting to arrange their own party and make all the employees participate. Yes, I’ve been at workplaces like that.
- I’m grateful for South Park because it makes me laugh so so hard, and I need laughter today.
Today, everyone has been gushing about how we’re going to get, “like one full inch just today!” about the rain. Then they follow that up with a bunch of verbal orgasming about how awesome the rain is and how if you love Washington you have to love the rain.
I’m sorry, no. I don’t mind the rain anymore, and definitely not to the extent I did in Centralia. But for me, these rainstorms and grey skies will always, always remind me of floods and air raid sirens and evacuating our home.
Rain reminds me of how things went to shit. How John was hit by a car, and less than a week later our house was flooded in one of the worst storms to hit the state. How everything, everything was ruined, and while we were trying to rebuild the mortgage company sold our loan again and the company that bought the loan raised the whole thing from a payment of $790 to a payment of $1,300, and the house wasn’t even close to fixed.
Rain reminds me of John standing at the window crying as they took his motorcycle away. The insurance company had declared it totaled, but that was insurance-company speak. The bike could be fixed, and John was going to keep it and fix it up. It was sitting in our garage when the flood came, and the engine was soaked in all that nasty sewer-gas-flood water. So John signed the paperwork for the insurance company to take it, and he stood at the window with his jaw clenched firm and tears sliding down his cheeks as they loaded it onto the flatbed.
Rain reminds me of how after two years, our house was finally, finally near completion, and the air raid sirens sang again to warn us of rising waters. We evacuated again, and I sobbed in John’s arms and begged him to leave that albatross money pit of a house that we’d already wasted two years of back breaking labor and more paychecks than I care to count on.
Rain now is softer, gentler. It’s not going to ruin our lives anymore. But I still hear the faraway rumble of rising water, and I still dread the wail of the air raid sirens. Rain is not something I love — I do love Washington, but the rain? No.