The Rainy Day

Hello dear hearts and gentle readers,

I have once again been remiss on the updating front. I have a good excuse, though, as the cute boyfriend and I are now homeowers. (No, that ain't a typo. Since we could not afford to just slap down the full purchase price of the house, we will be owing on it for about, oh, 25 years or so. And that's not alarming or daunting at all, no sirree.)

Anyway, we've been running around signing bids and counter-offers, had the wits scared out of us during the house inspection, planning renovations we can't afford, walking around Home Depot in a daze, and oy! So I've had not so much the time or energy to sit down and write up my thoughts about it all. Indeed, I don't intend to right now, either.

I will say, though, that now that the onus of making sure my dwelling is liveable and comfortable and fireproof and waterproof, etc., I've found my perspective has changed quite a bit. All of a sudden things like property taxes and termites have a space in my brain that I never gave them before. I'm actually interested in sales on patio furniture. Home and Garden television used to be a kind of vague background channel that occasionally held some neat decorating ideas. Now it's the equivalent to Monster Chiller Horror Theatre for adults. "I had an inspector come through the house and tell me nothing was wrong with the house. But that wasn't the case… AT ALL." "Nooooo! Turn it off! For the love of god, TURN IT OFF!"

Anyway, so that's what's been going on with me lately. Except for yesterday. Yesterday, it rained. No big whoop, rain in and of itself is not an issue, but maybe if we look in on an email that I sent my sister early yesterday morning we'll find something different…

To: Big sister
From: Me
Subject: This Morning

So I'm walking to the streetcar in the rain this morning, not a care in the world, and a car comes barrelling down the street at 60 km an hour and hugging the curb. I turn my head in time to notice what is about to happen and I watch the bastard drive through a puddle the size of Lake Victoria. For a second there is calm and I think to myself, "hey, maybe it'll miss me" as my useless limbs refuse to move the umbrella to protect me. Then it is made clear to me that the pause is just the time it has taken for the arc of water to rise up into the air and find it's target: me. I am douched good and proper.

You know when Lucy used to do that "My bonnie lies over the ocean" bit and someone would hit her full in the face with a bucket of water whenever she'd say 'ocean' or 'sea'? Well, it was like that, only the water was filthy street water full of oil, grease, garbage, and whatever human effluvia the homeless bestow on it. As the heartless prick drove off, doubtless laughing and twirling his moustache like the evil supervillain he is, I stood dripping in disbelief. Did that actually just happen? Yes. Yes it did.

I was trying to decide whether or not to just pack it in, go back home and call in soaking bloody wet. But, eventually I just slowly dried my face off with my sweater and walked on toward the TTC and work. Why should I be the only one to enjoy my horrid puddle hair and my grumpy disposition? Share the wealth, I always say.

So, how is your day going?

And so we see how when we're in the midst of a huge life event like buying our first house and our minds are consumed with high-flown ideas and small, niggly details, life finds a way to bring us back down to earth with the most straightforward means possible. A rainy day, a jerk late for work, and a girl who needs to get her head back into reality. This is the music of life my friends, the simple melody of living. Listen and giggle.