On Unexpected Storms as a Metaphor for my Existence

I had an appointment to look at an apartment this morning. The landlord's name is Denny.

"Denny, do you allow large dogs?" I asked Denny on the phone.
"Curt, do your dogs enjoy cockroaches?" Denny said.
I guess the place is kind of decrepit. I guess I'll take what I can get.

I walked a mile and a half to check out the place. It was a beautiful morning. I couldn't stand to waste it in a car.

Denny was a small man, with shifty eyes, and from the looks of him, not the kind of man you would want to do business with unless you were desperate.

As you know, I'm desperate. Most rational people who rent out property don't allow large dogs.

There is a small kitchenette, and a bathroom. It has a bathtub, but it isn't functioning. I will have to find alternate means of bathing.

There is heat, or there will be when I need it, Denny says. There is wall-to-wall dirty, dirty carpeting, and the depressing smell of mold. It needs a good cleaning, top-to-bottom.

Low ceiling. Peeling wallpaper.

It is in the basement. A single window, small, with bars.

It will work. It has to work. I gave Denny a deposit, all that I had from payday yesterday.

On my way home, the blue sky suddenly turned gray and a thunderstorm started.

I thought, a perfect metaphor for my life.

I was wet. I was soaked. I was unprepared. I am always unprepared.

But I had crawled out of my hole. It wasn't so deep.

And it was okay. Once I was drenched, I couldn't get any wetter, and I embraced my being with the storm. It was liberating. Rain happens. Like death. You might as well accept it.

Everyone around, whether walking or driving, or biking, was bothered by the rain. An unwelcome intrusion on an otherwise fine existence.

I smiled as big as I could as I returned home to Warden and Regrette. We're moving on Thursday. I can't wait to tell them.

I'm going to savor some more Rainy Day Butter, perhaps on my last muffin.