It's Raining Outside

            It's raining outside.  The drum of water droplets drown out the world, the wind blows away, away, away.  
            I am not afraid of the cold, or the wet.  It's just that hot tea is so fitting, and a cup steams at my elbow.  I reach up to turn out the light and sit in partial darkness, listening to the howl of unseen beasts.  The light is too false.  It profanes the the atmosphere of gloomy chill.  So I leave it out and sip my tea.  I wish I could say that this silence affords my thoughts peace, but it doesn't.  
            Isn't that strange? I find that chaos is better for introspection, because your mind is forced to blaze a path through extraneous noise.  But not peace, not silence, not stillness.  Then your mind is startled by its own strangeness.  Or perhaps its just me that cannot recognize my own thoughts. 
            I feel so young.  I feel so vulnerable.  Perhaps the rain is like a great equalizer-I don't notice that it discriminates between the brilliant and lackluster, the old and young, the good and bad.  We all get wet, don't we?
            My head hurts.  I don't think people will like this post because it's nothing more than a stream of consciousness, and it doesn't even make sense to me.  But when do I ever make sense to myself?  I think the truly wise aren't those that know others, but those that know themselves.  I think the truly happy are those who have gone to the edge and learned to appreciate true sorrow.  What was that thing that man once said? It was something about skunkweed.  It was beautiful, something about the necessity of something as yucky as skunkweed to bring out the beauty of a rose.
           There are so many, many things I should be doing.  But I can't bring myself to review Calculus, or learn my new AP Spanish vocabulary.  I was very proud to be taking AP Spanish, but right now it seems pointless.  Stupid, even.  The rain doesn't care, so why should I? The rain scorns the school of men, and looks away from the fools that scramble for their fools' education.  It's so depressing.
            My bed is unmade, the breakfast dishes waiting sternly in the sink.  But my tea is only half drunk and the warm scent of mint dances across muddled senses.  
           Enjoy the rain, San Diego.