laguera25 | Plans, Puny Mortal? What Plans? (Reply)

Today has been an exceedingly lazy day. I had intended to fic, fic, fic 'til I couldn't fic no more, but the mercurial weather, as is its wont, intervened. At two o'clock, I hear thunder, but when I look outside, all I see is blue sky. The thunder, however, persists, so I turn off and unplug all electronics and hide in the bathroom. It won't be long, after all.

Three o'clock. Thunder and bright sky. No lightning. I have been huddled on the john for thirty minutes.

Three-thirty. Thunder and overcast sky. Still no lightning. I have been on the john one hour, and my butt is sending distress signals.

Four o'clock. Thunder and bilious, black sky. All the birds have gone silent, and the children have gone inside. Still no lightning. I have been on the beamus ninety minutes, and my abused gluts are attempting to secede from the corporeal union.

Four-thirty. Grinding thunder and intermittent forks of lightning, but no rain. It might as well be nine o'clock in the evening for all the light coming through the windows. I have been impersonating Rodin's Thinker for two hours. My butt, realizing that its cries have fallen on deaf and obdurate ears, has gone numb.

Five o'clock. Still thundering, but the sky is lightening, and the lightning has stopped. No rain. My butt is snorting rectal Novacaine. I get off the toilet after two and a half hours.

"Your ass has an impression of the toilet seat," the roomie informs me helpfully.

Five-fifteen. Weak sunlight and patches of blue. No thunder. No lightning. It starts to rain.

I hate you, weatherman. I hate you so very, very much.

Welcome,