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I hate rainy days with a passion.

This morning I woke up and planned on going out for a run. It was only after getting ready and looking out the window more carefully that I discovered that it was still raining.

Yes, it’s been a rainy week, and I have not been able to run any of those days. What’s stronger than passion? Because I hate it in that sort of way.

You see, I don’t hate rain in itself. I love hearing the soft tip-tap of the rain hitting the roof and I love the still yet fleeting feeling of childhood wonder while looking out to the grey horizon. I love seeing the plants slowly straighten their backs and smile back at the sun after the rain stops.

But, that, of course, is dependent on the rain stopping.

During the summers in Florida, the heavens pour out monsoons on a daily basis, but then happily return the celestial stage to our brightest star. Here in Montpellier these past few days (and for many of the weeks when I was working in Montana), the clouds have become arrogant undeserving celebrities who refuse to give up the limelight.

I won’t say it doesn’t have advantages. I love curling up in bed and simultaneously catching up on my favorite shows while reading non-school books when the buffering is slow. I’ve also been able to get more research done for my grant proposal.

But it’s starting to become depressing. My windows have become so splattered with the wind-blown rain that I can hardly see out of them. I’m starting to feel antsy in the way a little kid does when he sees his Christmas presents and wants nothing more than to rip apart that wrapping paper this very second (his parents are obviously also bad Santas).

And it really doesn’t help that my iTunes has shuffled itself to an orchestral track from “Titanic”… and I’m pretty sure it’s the one the orchestra plays in the movie as the ship goes down.

I guess it’s time for some “Honey Bee.”

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