The gloomy pounding rain outside my window is a welcome sight and sound. I love when the universe opts to mirror my inner angst and despair. It's the least the universe can fucking do after all the other shit it's hurled at me. Right? Fuck the universe. Fuck. the. universe. And I'm not talking about the universe in the sense of stars and flying saucers and planets and crescent moons and all that celestial jazz. I'm talking about whatever entity, or vehicle of chance, that is responsible for the doling out of rewards and disasters. The older I get the less random everything feels, the less evenly distributed. In fact, I feel like I have a big red circle target on my back. But not a cutesy one, like the Target store symbol, which I love so much. More like that nasty circle rash you get when you get infected with Lyme disease.
So this rain is a comfort. It's a good excuse to be lazy on my couch and watch Six Feet Under, which is no doubt where I'll be living in about a year's time anyway. Dreary, pounding rain also gives me a good excuse to ram my car into a telephone pole. It wasn't suicide, folks. I hydroplaned.
7 hours ago