Blame it on the rain

It's just one of those mornings when you feel physically torn out of an incomplete slumber. The alarm rings and you press Snooze but stay awake, listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the window sill. No sign of the sun. Against your better judgment you slowly nod off again, but then make a giant effort and pull yourself out of bed.

You shower and dress in a burst of sullen energy. No shaving today. I may HAVE to go to work but damned if I'm gonna look my shiny best as well.

There's nothing particularly to cheer about in the morning newspapers either. The comics are stale, reruns from a forgotten age, and you wonder where all the good cartoonists have gone.

My daughter wakes up, as usual, on cue with her old man. I give her a baleful look- enjoy your sleep while you're still allowed to, kiddo, but she seems happy to follow me around as I dress. She also splashes my tea all over the couch and some of it on my trousers as well. Luckily they're brown so the stains won't show. I growl a little, but shut up when wifey points out that it was my fault for keeping a full teacup within arm's reach of a 16-month old. In my heart I know she's right but am loath to concede the advantage this early in the day.

Outside the sun has yet to make its maiden appearance of the day. K calls to say he's ready but no sign of S: coordinating this carpool is turning out to be a bigger problem than I imagined.

I dab my trousers with a towel, grab my lunch box and make a hasty exit. The little one's started to realise that goodbyes are sad occasions now. I can't handle any right now.

The traffic is the usual manic mayhem. Someone cuts me off and my mood turns another shade darker. The incessant chatter on the radio is getting my goat- I reach for my CD case and try to find something more suitable. Which is difficult when you're steering in bumper-to-bumper traffic near a busy junction. I pull out what I think is Guns n Roses and hand it over to K with a terse instruction to insert the disc while I regain my lost ground in the auto rat race.

Turns out it's not GnR but the Allman Brothers. Great. Looks like nothing's quite destined to go my way this morning.

A massive truck blocks the right lane as a policeman angrily beckons him to pull over by the side of the road. The honking behind me is unbearable. I turn up the volume to drown it out. Dickey Betts croons:
You're my blue sky
You're my sunny day

Yeah right Dickey. I peep out my window to check just in case but the dark clouds are still hovering, the atmosphere pregnant with all the anticipation of rain but none of the promise.

Lord you know you make me happy
When you turn your love my way
Suddenly the climate-controlled interior of my car doesn't seem so oppressive any more. I go down a notch deeper in my seat and raise the volume a little more.

Do you really count your blessings every day as you've promised yourself you would so many times? Think back to the early hours of pre-dawn when your little one slips her tiny hand under your side to keep warm. Think of the woman you love, who cheerfully packs you a low-fat lunch and boiled water at half past six so you don't have to expose your body to the germs that took you down not that long ago.

Glance around your car, your pride and joy when you bought it "with your own hard-earned money" all those years ago. Hard-earned? Really? You have a nice office, with good people around you and a boss who appreciates what you do.

Outside the rain begins to come down strongly now. The motorcyclists flee for cover, some of them taking shelter under an overbridge. Others not so lucky, or perhaps, not possessing the luxury of time, brave it out in the wetness and the muck. I set the AC to heat and realise the song has changed. Standard 12-bar blues now.

S. is half-asleep, K. in deep thought gazing at the wetness outside. I look at them with almost-fondness. They're not that bad at all- good company on the long daily commute, loyal chaps who're there when you need them.

The traffic moves slowly but steadily despite the rain. As we pull into the parking lot to the blazing twin guitar leads of Southbound, S. asks for the CD. I promise him I'll share the MP3s.

Fitting, I think.
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Dedicated to my friend Amit the weatherwise