By October's end, when children in waterlogged princess dresses slogged forth in search of sweetness, leaving parents at the curb clinging to one another in circular huddles beneath too-small umbrellas. "What troopers," we admired from the protection of our dark, dank living room.
November brought the winds.
We passed the time marveling at raindrop trajectories. The odd angles and tympanic symphony made for hours of entertainment. "Pass the turkey" became a euphemism for "I have been cooped up in this motherbleeping house with you for 3 months, stop hogging the goddamned plate before I turn these potatoes into projectiles."
Then came December. Ah, December... Sometimes freezing sleet, sometimes snotty slush, we never knew. But it mattered not because we had each other, we had gaudy, colored lightbulbs on knotted strings, we had illuminated plastic animals to throw on what was once our lawn.
In January, you took off for the mountains in search of high altitude snow to hurtle yourself down. "Good riddance!" I exclaimed, as I pulled the covers over the matted dreadlocks of my unwashed skull. I read a book by the light of my own glowing-white flesh.
In February, we bought snorkels. We told the salesperson at REI they were for a tropical adventure, but we could tell by the look in her deadened eyes: she knew the truth.
The rains of March went wholly unnoticed, but only because our lives had come unhinged. It was as if the universe had waited until we reached the dreary depths of despair before unleashing the fury of ten thousand evil curses upon our persons. And our persons' persons.
But we prevailed. Oh yes, we did. We held up two middle fingers to those neverending clouds, reveling in our victory for making it to April.
And still... it continues to fucking rain.