The more the gloomier

I remember it as a child… The first rain fall. I could swear by it’s dampness on my cheeks, and the fuss we made about it. It’s raining.. That was enough to make us smile.

And I remember it again as an adult. Driving. Listening to Fairuz. And the first and last time I was “in love” with a man.. He said, let’s not walk today, it’s raining.. And I said please let’s do, because it is. And the very same sweet feeling was there, the dampness, the happiness, rain made me smile. And maybe it also made me overrate his company. The bastard.

Whatever happened to that?

Why is it that the rain in Kuwait lifts my spirits. But when I am in London, and open my curtains to clouds and wet, I get gloomy and forlorn?

I miss my mother, so so much. And what a strange feeling! What a strange sentiment that when I went away, we became closer! The hugs I was afraid of giving now pour on her like this rain. Perhaps it is because of days like this, when I miss her smell so much, that when I do have her beside me I try to fill my lungs with it. What a strange change.. The boss has finally become the mother.

Who in God’s name cleans windows on a rainy day? The British work in mysterious ways.

Speaking of work, that is something I should be doing. Everything is due tomorrow. Everything. And I am fasting, and hungry, and craving coffee and cigarettes too much for my own good.

And chocolate, of course.