Broke-Ass is not her usual toilet-mouthed, rage-against-the-machine self today. Today, actually, she is really rather blue. It is not a good kind of raining today.
There is the good kind of raining in which you feel warm and swaddled inside and feel mouse-like at the thought of snuggling up in a quilt when you get home and reading Freedom. There is the other kind of good rain, which is green and adolescent and purifying and procreative, like in “Five Years” by David Bowie. There is melancholy, Bronte-esque moor rain, and that can be pretty good, too, especially if you have a good pen and writing paper–maybe a piano in an empty room.
Today’s rain is just cold and sad and Broke-Ass is reminded of all the failures in the world. The failures of communication, of acting the way you would have wanted to, of really helping someone, of overcoming hurts that are apparently indelibly branded into you, of courage when it counted most, of holding back. Sometimes, it just seems all so fucking sad. And there just doesn’t seem to be much to do about it.
Today will be different. But today is just sad.