Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Rain rain rain rain rain

The sound of the daily morning voices reading the day's news stories from the TelePrompTer is what I am accustomed to as I awaken from my sleep. This morning was definitely different. Other than staying up later than usual, causing me to sleep through the morning news programmed to ease me out of my morning dreams, my reason for sleeping in was quite obvious...work. This was my day off. After hearing the news that the bad apple had fallen from the tree, I needed some rest before my next few weeks of finding a new addition or two for the team, with whom I spend half of my life. Filling the holes in the schedule is easier, knowing that the elation of the team, caused by this recent incident, has changed the overall attitude of the staff. After a nice long sleep, the foreign sound that gently woke me was rain, large drops smacking against the window, ringing off the window pane and balcony railing.

Okay, yes, the title of this blog states that I live in Canada's rain forest, so why would the sound of rain wake me? Looking at my stress this year, ultimately making me rethink my direction in life, I recognize it all began with the turn in the weather. The month of June was hideous, filled with the monotonous days of gray clouds, chilly temperatures and wet clothing from the heavy rain showers, surprising hopeful Vancouverites, whom had chosen not to carry an umbrella. Once July began, the sun forced it's way into the city full force, causing a seemingly marathon-like heatwave, melting the core being of every cook. I drank so much water during these summer months, attempting to replenish the drops of salty sweat dripping from every pore. Cooking in a hot kitchen during a heat wave makes you realize that you can sweat from anywhere on your body, even your knees. The hours during these months continued to pile up on my shoulders, strengthening the base for my future hump. It seemed the endless heat would never break. As Vancouverites all know, the Pacific National Exhibition, the annual fair, would put a plug in the nonstop heat and bring rain. It seems the Fair always is hampered by rain at some point during the two weeks of it's run.

Today it was my day off; sleeping in is always my first priority, considering my start times range from 6am to 9am, almost similar to being back in school again. Having two appointments back to back today was the one reason for eventually pouring myself out of bed, body maintenance saving me from turning into a crippled old lady with a hunchback. Originally, I was weary about going to see a chiropractor and massage therapist regularly, never wanting to depend on medical assistance to physically get through my day. Now, I look forward to the appointments, helping me avoid the pain. Once I pulled myself out of my cozy bed, showered and dressed appropriately for the weather, I mentally prepared for the different environment assaulting me as I walked out the front door of my apartment building.

The rain was cool, soothing the city from it's months of dusty smoggy days, crunchy brown straw covering the boulevards and previously lush green lawns, pine needles, dried tree branches and leaves from thirsty trees coating the ground in every park and forest in the province. Opening up my black umbrella, I stepped into the wet weather happy that I decided to wear a scrunchy scarf around my neck, keeping me from the unusual August chill enhanced by the misty damp showers sneaking up under my mobile awning from the gusts of wind attempting to mask late August as October.

The appointments were quick and informative, progress being made every time I am tortured from neck to waist, and every crack of each vertebrae in my spinal column. I made more future appointments, and rode the elevator to the lobby of the medical building in hopes the sun had won out over the stormy clouds. To no avail, the weather had not changed. I opened my umbrella and sauntered out on to the busy street, walking in the direction of my scheduled rainy day routine. I love to pass the day on a wet day inside, shopping for bargains and emptying my brain of all thoughts. Usually I wear my ipod, drowning out the sounds of conversations. Today I welcomed the eavesdropping on other lives while I emptied my stress, sliding each hanger adorned with discounted, dismissed clothes. I pass by the the purses and bags, a new addiction, especially as I realize my previous purses were creating an abnormal muscular knot on one side of my shoulders. Always having a reason for a purchase, I bought a purse which was water proof, ideal for my netbook, on which I am blogging most often. It was raining and my current purse was becoming a bit soggy.

Out of the first store, I cross the street to the next, not fully satisfied with my shopping. I rise to the top level of the department store, the bargain penthouse rather than basement, and begin the long search for something to feed my addiction. Catching my eye immediately, I come upon another garment for which I have another affinity, . Is it the theme of the day, rain, which makes me pull it off the rack and try it on? Is it the color, red, which always focuses attention on me immediately, attention I say I hate but find impossible from which to walk away. A classic trench coat, a designer name brand, with excellent quality and amazing fit. I have a closet full of jackets, coats and sweaters, all cheaply made, bland or simply not fitting me correctly. I put the coat down and walk away, telling myself I don't need it, but I am pulled back to the rack like a magnet to a fridge. People tell me regularly that red is my color. I check the price tag recognizing an amazing sale of seventy percent of the original price. I checked all the sizes, trying to find a second excuse for buying the trench, or is this the fourth reason? I pulled it off the rack, being the only size left that fits me, and promptly purchase my new red trench, hopefully waiting to cheer up the city amongst the black and khaki trenches worn by the downtown population.

Out into the blustery day I raise my umbrella, walking home with my addiction fixed for the moment. I enter my apartment and cook some late lunch or early dinner, listening to my aging cat speak to me of her time while I was away. Napping after eating, I listen to the rain dripping on my balcony, while the television natters on about the current gossip of entertainers. My day off was half over, but mostly done, as I have no desire to leave my humble abode again. I spend the evening watching mindless boob tube shows while attempting to retrain my cat on where her litter box has been repositioned. She has entered her twilight years, accidents on the carpet and hours of sleep, a path which I have walked with a past pet, Sebastian. This time I will not make my current cat a pin cushion, tested for solutions to an uncontrollable situation - aging. At 18 years old, Princess, has lived the life of which her name signifies. An indoor cat, sleeping and eating are her main activities. She enjoys hours of lounging on a chair on the balcony during the summer months, sleeping all night long el fresco often when it is warm enough. Her aging symptoms are usual, most likely the slowly deterioration of her kidneys, resulting in more water intake. Comfort, water, and clean litter boxes are all she needs, as the medical advice suggests, unless re-hydrating her every two weeks intravenously is an option. My cat has never left the apartment in six years, transporting her would be more traumatizing and no doubt will speed her aging. As long as she is comfortable I will be satisfied.

Now it is dark, the rain has stopped and I begin my nightly routine of watching the news, just as I regularly awaken daily. I have an addiction to the newscast also. Perhaps, I should attempt to wander off the routine path once and awhile, but today was not the day. Mindlessness was much needed, the rain washing away the dust and dirt from the city streets, and my own mind.

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