It gives the appearance of a possible reenactment of the Biblical flood that had Noah building boats in the rain. Two weeks of rain and counting. Only one day without rain in that entire time period and we haven't been hit anywhere near as bad as southern Maine and New Hampshire and northeastern Massachusetts.
My first act in the morning is to empty the bucket next to the monitor on the computer desk ... then, and only then can I take a pee myself. The black fungus growing in and on the wall is a half inch thick. The lawn is a foot and a half high as Momma can't stand to get her face wet so there's no lawn mowing.
My allergies are kicking – bad enough the pulmonologist expressed concern for my short-term longevity the other morning after we'd both sloshed into his office from the parking lot in a minor monsoon. (I'd tried to use the valet parking, but the driver had balked when he saw an inch of floodwater sloshing around the floor well of the front seat). Breathing from the bottom of my right lobe is a distant memory. I can only imagine how awful the crap is that's growing in there.
Oh! The weatherdrone on the TV said there's no end in sight. “Possibly some partial sun peeking between the clouds on Tuesday.” Then back to the discussion of daily and total accumulations of rainfall from this “weather event”! “Weather event,” my ass. It's a fucking monsoon. More evidence the pinheads in the white coats aren't wrong about “global warming” (a misnomer and a term I have come to hate as the disbelievers latch onto it for ridicule and scorn). Let's just say the weather patterns are shifting due to the crap mankind has been excreting to the atmosphere for the past two hundred years. Sky shit, Rob. Got it?
Even the cats are disgusted. Each afternoon, as I make the necessary offerings to their food bowl in order to assure safe passage of me and the missus to the car, they attempt to rub their soggy selves on her uniform. This elicits squeals of disgust as she attempts to avoid their ministrations (admittedly, clumps of yellow fir and burdocks show up quite clearly on navy blue pants). They all look at me as if it's my fault that it's too wet to get off the porch.
Anyway, I'm tired of all the water. We've had more rain in two weeks than we normally see in two months and this is almost as soggy a place as Seattle. Time to get one of those new-fangled raincoats that let you sweat while staying dry.
My first act in the morning is to empty the bucket next to the monitor on the computer desk ... then, and only then can I take a pee myself. The black fungus growing in and on the wall is a half inch thick. The lawn is a foot and a half high as Momma can't stand to get her face wet so there's no lawn mowing.
My allergies are kicking – bad enough the pulmonologist expressed concern for my short-term longevity the other morning after we'd both sloshed into his office from the parking lot in a minor monsoon. (I'd tried to use the valet parking, but the driver had balked when he saw an inch of floodwater sloshing around the floor well of the front seat). Breathing from the bottom of my right lobe is a distant memory. I can only imagine how awful the crap is that's growing in there.
Oh! The weatherdrone on the TV said there's no end in sight. “Possibly some partial sun peeking between the clouds on Tuesday.” Then back to the discussion of daily and total accumulations of rainfall from this “weather event”! “Weather event,” my ass. It's a fucking monsoon. More evidence the pinheads in the white coats aren't wrong about “global warming” (a misnomer and a term I have come to hate as the disbelievers latch onto it for ridicule and scorn). Let's just say the weather patterns are shifting due to the crap mankind has been excreting to the atmosphere for the past two hundred years. Sky shit, Rob. Got it?
Even the cats are disgusted. Each afternoon, as I make the necessary offerings to their food bowl in order to assure safe passage of me and the missus to the car, they attempt to rub their soggy selves on her uniform. This elicits squeals of disgust as she attempts to avoid their ministrations (admittedly, clumps of yellow fir and burdocks show up quite clearly on navy blue pants). They all look at me as if it's my fault that it's too wet to get off the porch.
Anyway, I'm tired of all the water. We've had more rain in two weeks than we normally see in two months and this is almost as soggy a place as Seattle. Time to get one of those new-fangled raincoats that let you sweat while staying dry.
"Lake 2006" -- Ten Paces From The Door 
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