A rainy day out here on the west coast, nothing to do but sit back, open a book, get out the guitar, rent a movie. Drive to the grocery store, even if you're close, get warm foods, like a soup, or even make your own, a chowder, or a borscht. Get on the horn, make up for lost phone calls. Although I hate the phone and rarely talk on it these days. Back before then, I'd spend hours on the phone. Nine-hour, eight-hour, six-hour conversations talking on the phone, not hanging up when I said I would. I should make a couple of phone calls, but I got stuff to do, people to see in person.
For those of you who enjoy a stroll in the rain, do so. Wait till the afternoon, when the clouds get all of that night-anger out of them and warm up to us. Let the rain paint your clothes sticky and dark, or let the rain dapple light specks into the fabric of your shirt, or let it roll down like waterslides off of your raincoat. Look at the sun, one of the few chances when it is as small as the moon, behind thick grey, a bizarre core that only shows itself when the atmosphere veils it so. Stand under a big tree, dry. Sit down, take a nap, the ground should be dry, the insects gone down for deep cover. Let the hiss of passing tires scare off your enemies, fade them away, feel the space between your neighbors, filled in by the rain.