I thought something was on fire when I woke up this morning. I panicked, jumped out of bed, and ran to the window only to discover that what I thought was smoke was actually just fog – lots and lots of low-hanging clouds. Even if there had been a fire it would have been doused in a hurry by the torrential downpour I could feel coming. My bones ached, my skin felt wet. There was condensation on everything. Just yesterday I was basking in the sun, feeling inspired and invigorated by the warmth. I had hopes, dreams – you name it. Now I wanted to retreat back to bed. All my hopes and dreams were dashed by these low-hanging clouds. Oppressive things, these low-hanging clouds. They make me feel stifled. I can’t breathe. Seeing them is enough to make me feel like someone is trying to smother me with a pillow as I sleep. I want to scream out but I know it would be futile; my screams would be muffled by the condensation in the air.
I thought perhaps a coffee and some toast would do some good, so I ambled to the kitchen and began preparing them. But just a few seconds into the process I was overcome by the urge to give up, to lie down and remain lying down until someone found me or until my heart gave out and I died. I couldn’t handle the thought of slogging through another fall and winter in this city. Even worse, I couldn’t handle the thought of slogging through another fall or winter anywhere in the country. Unlike some countries that have distinct regions with unique weather patterns, this country just offers up much of the same no matter where you go: lots of cold and lots of wet and lots of discomfort waiting for the thaw to come again. I wanted to curse the ground I was sitting on, but I knew that would do no good. Much like my screams being stifled by the clouds, my curses would probably just be absorbed by the cold linoleum and vanish.
After a few pathetic moments of despair, I gathered the will to live for just a few more hours, used the bathroom, got dressed, and wandered outside, hoping to maintain enough strength to make it to a café for a warm breakfast. Everything looked bleak in the city. Moss and mould seemed to be growing everywhere, as though it had appeared overnight. Store awnings protruded onto the sidewalk, most covered with the black filth of years of rain and decay. Everywhere I looked people looked miserable. Dread hung in the air like mist. We were all feeling the same way; collective dread enveloped the populous.
I found a nearly empty café and snuggled into a booth. The place wasn’t too welcoming. The walls were yellow and the tables had fake maple syrup stains on them, but the smell of the cooking was palatable and all I could think of was curing my malaise with some hot pancakes and cheap coffee. But I knew that wasn’t going to be a permanent fix. As soon as I was finished I began to feel the despair creeping back in the form of a caffeine and sugar overdose from the cheap coffee and the fake maple syrup. I began to sweat. I had to tear off my thick overcoat and my toque in a hurry. My mouth was dry. I needed a drink of water but I had to pee from all the cheap coffee I had just consumed. It was torture. If I was one of the damned in Dante’s Inferno, which level of Hell would I be confined to? With whom would I be sharing eternity?
I rushed down the street in a hurry to find a bench or something to sit down on. Sweat was pouring down my face. The back of my shirt was soaked. I was a mess, a total wreck. How had this happened? How could beautiful summer have come and gone so quickly? It took forever to arrive, teased us with its glory, and then disappeared again without even saying goodbye. I was bitter, sick, and angry. With the last of my remaining energy I stood up, raised my fist to the sky, and began berating the clouds. “Fuck you!” I screamed. “Fuck you from all the people who put up with you nearly 10 months of the year!” It felt good to vent, so I continued: “From all of us who live here in this city, I curse you! I curse the earth that creates you. I curse the plants that benefit from you! I curse, I curse, I curse you! Be damned, rain, be damned!” And with that I collapsed in heap on the ground, worn out from my outburst. I was exhausted both emotionally and physically. I had wound myself up so tightly that I snapped like a fatigued guitar string. But I felt better. It was as if the weather and I were even now. The rain had thrown a surprise volley, a first attack, but I had responded and survived – the first battle, at least.
