Dreams of dry days ...

Looks as if they will start again soon, the “Rainsoons” I mean. The pattern stays the same. Each morning when I arise, the first thing I do is breathe on a hand-held mirror to see if I am still alive. Assuming I am, I then proceed to take whatever medication I’m on and brew a pot of coffee.

At the computer with “first cup,” I turn straight away to the weather. I don’t have to really. I can already tell that it is raining outside. I look at the screen anyway. I see what should be wonderful news. This day it will stop raining and there will be five or more days with a zero … yes … zero chance of rain. “O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” I chortle in my joy.

I begin making plans. Tomorrow, it will still be muddy, no use trying to do outside work. I’ll pick guitar.

Next day after tomorrow, it will still be muddy. Let’s read and pick the banjo.

Next day, the ground will be squishy, I’ll plan to stare at the computer while my roommate yells at the TV over some man she says is “nutso.” If I get tired of staring at the computer, I'll stare at my cell phone.

Ah, the fifth day of dry weather I’ll go outside and alter the world for the better.

Next morning, I arise full of vim and vigor and proceed through my routine. I add a blood-pressure check to make sure I’ll be physically fit to endure the trials ahead. Might have to add another day of house rest.

No worry. As soon as I see the computer screen lights up, I get ready to chortle.

What?

Oh no. Where only yesterday, there had been five days of dry weather forecast. Little zeros had marched across the screen. Now, in their place are these little symbols representing percentages. They range from 99.91 per day to 99.98. What? Has the Weather Person been prescribed Medical Marijuana? Am I living in a dream world? What’s that noise?

I know what that noise is. I’ve been hearing it most days since last August. I stumble into the living room and engage the television. OMG! There’s the odd-looking face of that man my roommate screams at all day long. He’s telling me that climate change is a hoax, but if not, it’s Hillary Clinton’s fault. He’s real pissed about it. Says that his opponents are causing it to rain on his people, trying to dilute their brain cells. The crowd goes berserk. He says something about a woodpile but I can’t tell because of the crowd noise, which gets louder. He posts a huge smirking smile, nods his head, then moves it up and down while pursing his lips, like a “bobble-head” doll. Reassuring he ain’t. His face is flashing red then orange, like a neon sign advertising soft drinks and pizza. He definitely needs some form of therapy.

That reminds me. I sure hope those banjo strings I ordered come today.  

Yep. That's me.