Splash

Sometimes I can't decide between writing a creative blog or just writing as if this were a journal or writing to the audience that is anyone with a myspace account.
I'm still not sure today what's going to come out.

The rain came down in buckets Saturday, drenching every crack and crevice the water could find. Always the type to enjoy a rainstorm, the sound of a thunderstorm outside was a welcome distraction and soon soothed me to sleep. Soothed me until it dripped. And continued to drip. And then splashed, waking me from a now forgotten dream. This was not just any ; it was a "bitch, i hate you" drip (yes, that was my roof talking to me) that decided to leak onto my bed. After frantically pulling my mattress off the box springs and standing it against the tv, I quickly found buckets to put on the floor and the remainder of what was my comfortable bed. Since I don't have a permanent guest room in my house, my sleeping option was my chair and a half (I promise that's what it's called: bigger than a chair, smaller than a love seat - it's a chair and a half) in the living room. A short freak out and call to my landlord at 3:30 am later, which he didn't answer of course, and I was asleep in the living room. Until 5:30.

Rain, rain go away . . . it didn't. And then the water leaked onto me while asleep on the chair and a half. So what do I do - the same thing any other 23 year old girl who's fed up does. I cried. Ok, I moved everything, called my landlord again - just to make sure his night was as bad as mine, which it couldn't have been - and then cried on the floor of my living room. Not sure what to do, I moved the mattress I had propped up earlier, which had survived getting wet due to my awesome but now damp mattress pad, into the office and throwing it on the floor. Exhausted, I slept for about four hours.

So the rest of the weekend, was really very good. My cousin Michael was in town with some of his friends looking at Tulane Law. I got to play tour guide, which I like to do. I just wish I'd gotten sleep on Saturday. 3 more months, 3 more months, I love you, New Orleans, but 3 more months.