It’s raining. Has been all day. And a lot of yesterday. It’s hard for me to do anything at all.
I love rain. I miss it. I grew up in Pennsylvania, in a place where, according to my 8th grade science teacher, some form of precipitation fell from the sky three hundred days a year. Now I’m in Tucson, and while I don’t know the number, I know it happens a lot less.
If it’s raining when I get up, it’s so hard for me to do anything more than go and get a cup of coffee and curl up in a corner. I want to enjoy it. If I go to work (what I usually have to do) by the time I have a chance to look out the window again the sun is shining.
I get more than enough of that. Edward Cullen wouldn’t last a week here.
Not today, though. It’s still raining. And in a little bit, I’m going to take a cup of hot cocoa and a nice smutty manuscript in my room and curl up on my bed to work.
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