I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.
I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can’t do a handstand–
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said–
I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.
it had happened for probably the 3rd time in a week… one time it was outside our building’s front door–christian walked out untouched but i was in the exact spot for the drops. the next a huge tree rained down on me, just me. finally down by the market, i walked directly behind him under the awning, but somehow the target was on my head.
“aw man!” i said, wiping the water out of my hair and off the arm of my jacket, “i’m always walking under the drips!”
christian thought that was one of the funniest things i’d ever said, and considering how everyone thinks he is the funny one, i accept all funny points i can get. but i wasn’t going for comic relief in that moment.
the drips seemed to be everywhere. they were dark, they were heavy, they were cold, and they seemed to be weighing down on me. pounding me with their attacks. it appeared there was no escape.
i sometimes still feel like the drips have it out for me. like i’m doomed to be a slishity–sloshity mess – but i guess one good thing about drips is that they either wipe off or dry out.