It's so rainy... well, how rainy is it?

There is a point in love where it quickly escalates into hatred. The paramount pinnacle. It doesn't matter what it is, be it person, place, or thing. Even one Kit Kat can turn a raging chocoholic into a diabetic with a few good chews.

For years, my “chocolate” is the rain. I love the rain. I love listening to it beat down on the roof while I lie in bed. I love to watch the beads on the windowpane and scroll its way down the glass. I love to see the drops fall in puddles, and the ripples push towards the outer edges.

But, as much as I love the rain, sometimes too much is too much.

For some strange reason, this autumn has met with days upon days of rain. Non-stop. Never ending. It makes me wonder if I’m living in London, England, instead of London, Ontario.

It’s so rainy that...

I don't feel like dancing in the middle of the street, like Gene Kelly in that ironically-titled movie, Xanadu.

I carry an umbrella everywhere I go... even indoors.

I think galoshes are particularly attractive for sploshing around in the water, and not only for 6 year olds.

I’ve grown accustomed to the squish.

I’ve grown accustomed to the extra 20 pounds I carry on my body due to eternal dampness.

I don’t want to wear anything made of wool because I’ll smell like a wet sheep.

I know my ‘fro hair needs a pick.

I think SAD is making me MAD.

I’m wishing it will snow ASAP, so the fucking rain will stop.

I can’t wait for the spring, when the weather becomes more… rainy.

Ugh.

Update: It's now sunny, with clear skies. God, you suck.