it's raining out today in east tennessee. there is a tin-covered tornado-door below my window and rain makes rattling sounds on it. out the window, there is the side of a white house, my Honda Accord ('97), maroon recycling bins, telephone wires and poles, bamboo, trees with some yellow and dark red leaves on them. i just woke up from a nap, i taught in the morning. everything feels far away. it's all the same as it always is except wet.
frederick barthelme once told me he was going to write a book called Weather. we both laughed.
when people call me from far away, they tell me about the weather where they are.
my grandparents always seemed very concerned about the weather.
my dog seems a little ignorant of weather, my cats more aware.
some people i know like to pretend it's very cold out when it's only moderately cold out. i don't know why.
sometimes when it's very cold out if you tell yourself it's not so cold, it won't be.
it's nearly impossible to masturbate when in a room without good central heating, at the very least, unpleasant.
the term 'bad weather' should stop existing.
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