Every Day is Beautiful.

The windows in my bathroom are made of white coated glass that you can only see through if you press your face up against it. Don't ask me why I've done this, but I have. I'm glad this is so, because the windows are in my shower (at shoulder level), and the coated glass stops passerbys from spying me with a stegosaurus hairdo singing "Takin' It to the Streets."

The one thing I don't like about them is that they fool me every morning. I wake up, walk to the bathroom, look at the windows, and think that maybe it's overcast. In the ten weeks since I've been here, I've had exactly one overcast day in my neighborhood. This was last Wednesday. I walked outside to find a sky covered in white clouds with gray inflections that presaged the unthinkable. A few hours later, I walked out again to find that it was actually misty. There was water in the air that I could feel. It was enough to prove that there is weather here, contrary to popular opinion.

I never thought that I'd miss rain. I never appreciated the fact that water occasionally falls from the sky in most places. When I was a kid, I remember hearing that Phil Collins song "I Wish It Would Rain" and thinking he was even more of douchebag than I had previously thought possible. Now, I know where he's coming from. I guess it's possible that perfect weather can become monotonous, too. Maybe it's why I often overhear snippets of conversations in which people say things like, "I'm in a really good place right now" and "It was just something I had to do, for me, you know?" When people don't have the weather to talk about, they find something even more boring.