usually i hate rain.

I do. Not even the writer in me can make lemonade out of rain. Every time the sky is cast gray and the air is unusually damp and the whole day passes without ever showing the light of the sun, I am depressed. I believe this is called "Seasonal Affective Disorder" but I call it Rain Makes Me Blue disease. It is so real, in fact, that on gray days Mark calls home a few times just to make sure I haven't jumped. My mom will see that the forecast in North Carolina is dim and call to make sure I'm okay. Usually I'm not.

So today when I woke up to a dismal sky above, I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach assuaged only by the sheer fact of waking up in our new house (which I would rather frolic about inside of and never leave). The high of living in this house carried me through the day, along with a good long walk. By four-thirty I was surprised I didn't feel the rain angst.

Here's the amazing thing: When it started to rain at 4:45, I was strangely... delighted! It's warm in here, and all the little table and floor lamps are turned on against the windows and the crisp, pretty walls. It's warm and cozy in here and even in spite of the chaos of boxes, it is very charming and the bricks have me fortified from the weather. Mmmmm, I love my house.