Rainy Days

I talked myself out of going to school today. I was on my way, but then the thought of waiting endlessly in the rain for overcrowded buses that may not turn up clinched my decision to head home.

I’d already been to the other university where I do my RA work. I’d woken up late, at ten minutes past ten, groggy from several nights of dreams involving the most complex of narratives; I had wanted to stay asleep so I could find out what happened next. Since the research meeting was scheduled for 11, I only really had time to have a shower, get dressed and walk to the other university. The meeting finished just in time for me to walk into the most horrendous downpour. It was made worse by the fact that I was juggling a bit fat folder containing a book manuscript, my hand bag, a coffee (that I dripped down my front—nothing like a great brown stain on your breasts to make everybody seem as though they’re leering at you), and a flimsy umbrella that was scant protection against the rain.

Still at this point, I intended to go to school and work on my forthcoming thesis presentation. I did some fiddly bits related to the RA work, before catching a bus (late, of course) into the city. On the way to the bus stop, with my trousers dripping wet from mid-thigh, I thought about how excellent it was to have another day of rain in this drought stricken part of the continent. The other day when this rain had not long started, I’d been in the city, on my way home. The rain had made me smile, as if I could stretch my face for the first time in a long time, without it cracking in the dryness.

To give you some indication of the extent to which the rain was welcome, you should know that under the eaves outside of the shops, all the way along the Queen Street Mall, people were taking photos with their cameras and mobile phones. It was if no-one in sub-tropical Brisbane had ever seen rain. I joined the fray, inspired by the sight of water gushing from a roof into a fountain catchment:


As I was sitting on the bus, the thoughts of crowded buses and delayed services and wet shoes and cold trousers were soon followed by thoughts of vegetable soup, hot cups of tea and sheepskin slippers that I could enjoy at home. The sheepskin slippers won the day, and any pangs of guilt about work were allayed as I reasoned that I could easily do some work at home—everything is on a memory stick that I always carry with me, and I have a few books to use for research as well.

So here I am, I’ve had some lunch, I’m sipping on tea, my feet are warmly ensconced, and I’m going to do some work. Any minute now.