It’s raining. I can’t stand the rain. A-
s a cat person it makes me uncomfortabl-
e. Like the wicked witch. I feel like I
am going to melt. Not really. But, I ca-
n’t stand being damp.

I don’t get along with electricity. I m-
ean, I do, but things like batteries al-
ways fail me. I get zapped way too ofte-
n. It has something to do with my hair
and lame fabrics. The synthetic shit i-
s particularly conductive. Thin hair o-
f unequal length constantly tempts sta-
tic. My frictional reserves are bounti-
ful.

Rain is alright in that sense. It coun-
teracts the charge. I like walking, th-
ough. A few miles a day does the trick.
I like to be outside. The rain’s oppre-
ssive to my purposes. Like fake heat a-
nd low humidity. You could blame the e-
nvironment, and you wouldn’t be wrong.
I dig umbrellas, though. And real air.
Wind is boss.

Ultimately, there is a solid week of q-
uality barometric goodness. Beyond tha-
t, I’m on my own. The thing about attr-
acting currency is, at some point, it n-
eeds to discharge. And it fucks me over
every time. People say I’m too interest-
ed in wind and clouds. I don’t think th-
ey know what they are talking about.

I’m just planning for when I’m electric.
And it’s only a matter of time.