Darkness and Light

It's my Saturday. It's really Tuesday, but in my mind it's Saturday. I usually despise waking up to sunlight streaming through my window, so I have the blinds closed and two dark scarves thrown haphazardly over the top guard in a vain attempt to make my hovel as dim as possible. I actually would prefer an overcast day to a sunny one. Friends gawk at me when I say this and I can't really explain it. There's nothing depressing fueling my preference: it's not because "the atmosphere matches my desire to off myself" and it's got nothing to do with having an insatiable desire to join the undead. I would just rather spend my time strolling outside during a fierce thunderstorm than basking on the beach, soaking myself in sunlight. There is something utterly breath-catching about seeing fluffy charcoal clouds rolling over top of each other, vying for the best position above your head. There is something so inexplicable about that scent right before the heavens open up. I can't think of a better sound than the patter of heavy rain drops on a tin roof. I can't imagine a better feeling than squishing across a field, drenched with steady rainfall, barefoot, enjoying the puddles swelling and oozing over my cold feet. And the rain. The sweet rain. The more of it, the better, in my book. I crave a good thunderstorm that rattles the windows and wipes every trace of grime off Toby (my car).

But, it's Saturday. And it's sunny. I use to think there was something wrong with me for not caring too much for the sun. After all, light is good...dark is bad, childishly put, of course. So, because I enjoy steel skies over blue skies, that must mean I'm a bad person...right? Obviously not, but it does give one pause.

I have a point to make, but I'm not entirely sure of what it is myself, so I think I shall sign off for now and collect my thoughts. Perhaps I'll make more sense later....