They say when it rains, it pours. And the thing is, pluviophile or not, I'm not sure how long one can continue to be drenched in the rain without dying of a water-born infection. Even if it is as trivial as the common cold. My question, to the fates-as-it-were is a simple one: why-me, why-now? Why would you decide to add a proverbial cherry on the icing of my confusion? Why would you choose this moment to further fuck-with-my-head by making me dig out what-I-once-wanted and bring it toe-to-toe with what-I-want-now? Why would you decide to give me a daily reminder that I have done this to myself before, and that trekking in mud (and rain) is probably going to leave me languishing in a ditch somewhere with a broken foot. Or buried under a landslide wishing I had gills-not-lungs and a little more common-sense. Point is, Dear Deity, why would you do this to me?
And from the distance where the Deity resides I hear an echo of a soft, amused, reply: "Why not?"
And that, my loves, is that.