One of the many things I have a love-hate relationship with is the rain.
On days when I have am running around outside like a headless chicken, aka. errand days, rain is the most unwelcome of all.
But on days when I do nothing more than curl up under the duvet, with my laptop propped up on my tummy and my head held slightly above sleep by the efforts of two pillows, the rain is happy company.
The heavier the better.
For one thing, it doesn’t make me feel exorbitantly guilty for wasting sunshine.
More than that though, is the sound raindrops make while tapping on my window. If I was back in my Vancouver room, the soothing noise would also be echoing overhead on the rooftop. It would be surround-sound, perfect for a lazy, cozy day in.
I would look out at the grey and dreariness, and feel protected. I’d feel even more cuddled, not just by the softness of my covers but also by the room, the house. It’s like they were giving me a hug, offering themselves up as a secure, big umbrella to keep the rain at bay.
But this is all just a very poetic way of saying that rain gives me the excuse to be lazy and in bed, which coincidentally, is my favourite way of spending a day.
Living in one of the wettest cities in the world could mean a match made in a heaven since I love rainy days or one made in hell, since I might just turn into a lazy blob of inactivity.