It is easy to forget that behind the rain and ceaseless gray, there is sunshine that stings when you stare up for too long. Transcending the rain without an umbrella is much like protecting one’s self from the misery of debts and the vise of daily drudgery. Get creative, or accept your lot and keep moving. Maybe you’ll find shelter beneath an awning, the ting-a-ting-a-ting of rain pelting crumpled aluminum drowning out the wails of despair that seep out of your inner monologue. There is hope here, but it is temporary, much as the storefront offers a square of shelter that is static and ultimately illusory. Moving forward and braving the elements is not some testicular test of character but a mere matter of tolerance—how much can you stand? You may get through this, but acceptance is another matter. Tolerance copes, but acceptance is getting soaked and enjoying it, newly dry-cleaned suit be damned.
Is this a metaphor? No. It is an exposition. I look out the window, and see a gray sky pregnant with threat, a thunderstorm that will drench me en route to a date with Korean fried chicken. My eyes reflexively squint if I stare at anything brighter than a night light, so staring up at the wall of cloud for a sign of unadulterated sunshine is an invitation to discomfort and intense brow furrowing. I know the sound of water droplets hitting aluminum well, the sound of sanctuary when the rest of the street is engulfed in LAVA AHHH DON’T STEP ON IT.
*restores 8 year old self to dank closet of sub-conscious*
Ahem. What I fail to know, however, is if I can accept a drenching today. Though light on my feet for a man of my stature and frame, I am not inclined to dance gaily in puddles or break into song for slack-jawed tourists on 5th Ave. I do not wear a suit to my farcical job, I prefer the maniacal physicality of Donald O’Connor to the prim and muscular grace of Gene Kelly, and I like twice-fried chicken in garlic sauce more than both. So that settles it, then.
*walks stiffly in downpour, receives chicken* ^_^
I look up, trying to discern if the clouds now obscure the top of the Empire State Building. They do, but my curiosity is only rewarded with the glare of the sky and the more obvious problem of WATER POURING INTO MY FUCKING EYE GAHHHHHH
Apologies. I can squeeze water out of my shirt. My freshly shaved head sloughs off water and essential oils that I will have to replenish with a long shower this evening, and my right eye still stings from the harrowing encounter it had with a fat droplet of fetid water that will no doubt lead to some virulent form of eye dysentery that will blind and eventually kill me.
The chicken is fantastic, though. There is much that I will tolerate for a reward so great as this. Shove that up your ambrosia-addled ass, Zeus. /is thunderclapped out of existence