Rain

Rain means I get to stay home and watch reruns of House and Gilmore Girls and old movies on TMC. Rain means I don't answer the phone or door, shut the blinds and don't shave. Continuous precipitation on a Wednesday excuses me from going to the poetry open mike and listen to uneven work by overconfident writers who never pay attention when I get up to read.
Rain means I can paint and read and write insightful blogs, while possibly completing that short story I'm stuck on. It means I can snack incessantly because I promise I will walk it off the following day. I can reexamine my theater pieces, revel in their humor and overall brilliance. I save gas by not moving my car. I let my imagination roam, create jokes, practice my impressions of old TV stars from moderately successful ensemble shows like WKRP in Cincinnati. I take a deep breath and clean out that ancient fruit in my fridge.
I can do hundreds of sit ups and make out bills and write letters I will never send. I can sing R&B favorites, maybe try out some dance moves. I can take my time with bowel movements.
No stress, no pressure, no angst, and, mostly, no expectations on rainy days.
Maybe I'll strip and examine myself in the mirror. Lord knows, I owe myself a reward.