The Poisoned Ink Well

Thursday, June 05, 2003

Rainy days

I freak out when it rains. I used to not be like this, it always took a lot to get me upset. I’ve had guns held on me, shotguns, knives to my throat, you name it, and I’ve had it happen, and you’d never know it, to look at me, but my friends that have known me for a long time (the ones not dead or in jail), they know.

Now I hear a clap of thunder and my knees tremble, and if I’m on the road and my car hydroplanes, the least little bit, I have to pull over, and I shake, and I get panic attacks (imagine that) and don’t even mention tornado warnings, you don’t want to know.

Which is strange, because where I grew up, we used to party when the weather got bad, and we’d stand outside and watch pine and hardwoods, rock back and forth in the wind, their tops touching the ground, as the gust changed directions, and laugh when the trunks would finally crack, and land in some parking lot on top of somebody’s car, and we’d go out riding during the worst of it, mud running at the edge of bayous and canals, in and out, up and down, and the worse the weather was, the more fun we had, of course we were all drunk off our asses back then.

It’s strange that I can’t stand the weather these days, and I don’t know what happened to me, or when it started, but all of sudden there it was, a brand new neurosis, that I didn’t have before, but then again, since I am quite used to my own neurotic indulges, I just shake it off and go on. I wonder why?