For starters, I had some really good feedback on my first post, so to anyone who took the time to read it and offer tips and things, you are all amazing! Thank you!
But as I lay in bed listening to the rain gently tapping at my window, I have to smile. I love the rain. I find it so relaxing, so calming, so... erotic. There are a lot of people who just don’t understand that. “It’s cold! It’s wet! It’s yucky! Why do you like this?” Well, dear reader, let’s find out together, shall we?
I grew up poor. Very poor. A horrible abusive family and all the things no one should have to face. So comforts and things to ease my mind were rare. But living in a seemingly never ending pattern of crappy garbage trailers with holes big enough small animals (and once a small human) could crawl through, one can find a way to find a little peace. I was raised in Tennessee, so during most of the year, it would rain at least occasionally, barring a dry summer of course. And the only good thing I can recall about those garbage trailers was they all had metal roofs.
The sound of the rain hitting that metal was my escape. It was my happy place. It made all of the bad just melt away. And for something as simple as water falling from the sky to have that kind of power, it’s almost magical in my mind.
There is something else about rain that I love. The smell. Some of you will know what I mean. Some can only offer confused glances and ask “You can smell rain?” Yes and no. I don’t think it’s the actual water itself that carries a scent. And if it does, that may be a bad thing. But it’s the world around you that you can smell, even before it rains. I’m sure everyone has seen those old cowboy movies where someone says “Smells like rain,” and it really is a thing. I don’t know if it varies by person, but to me the air smells... almost sweeter. I can smell the plants, smell the earth. Maybe it’s just something with the way my brain registers the pressure drops and all the science behind the rain. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe it’s a tumor.
The last reason I love rain so much is that I have always found it sexual. Especially storms. A lot of similarities exist between good sex and a good storm. A storm is rolling in, you can see the clouds and hear the soft distant thunder. You prepare for it, the anticipation rises as it gets closer. The wind starts to pick up a little. Was that a rain drop just a moment ago? And then another? The shower is upon you, slowly at first, the calm before the storm. You hear thunder again and see the lightning flash, still in the distance, but heading your way moving fast. When the storm finally hits, the rain, the wind, thunder, lightning, even hail... the intensity is there, the passion, the energy. The big payoff for the anticipation. As the storm passes, it slowly dies down, back into that soft gentle rain, the relaxing, calming tapping on the cheap metal roof.
Maybe I’m just a romantic? Maybe there really is something to the rain that causes these almost euphoric emotions at times. Maybe it really is a tumor. Regardless, I’m going to lay here and enjoy it. Because when I get up, I have to work. And that is a different storm altogether.
