Blame it on the rain

I had every intention of jumping out of bed today and hitting the gym, but those intentions were washed away by the rain showers that swept through ATL this morning. I’m usually pretty good about getting up early to get in a workout, but when there’s an overnight shower, my energy drops like Good Times’ ratings after John Amos left.

Accept my apologies for slipping into wishy washy, philosophical John, but for me, there’s something peaceful and therapeutic about the tranquil sounds of a gentle shower. It certainly doesn’t motivate getting up, throwing iron around or clocking miles on the treadmill.

A light shower, especially in the wee hours of the morning, is a great time for doing all the obvious things you’d do in a bed (like sleeping – hey it’s all about the G-rating here at the Chronicles), but it’s also a great time for thinking – thinking about the day ahead, thinking about the breakfast you’re going to have, thinking about life.

I grew up within walking distance of the Atlantic, and during the summer and early fall, precipitation could range from gentle soakings to call your insurance company level storms. Even as a child, I’ve had a thing for lying awake and listening to, as one of the elders of my neighborhood would say, the angels crying (Which I never understood – what do angels have to cry about?? They have cool wings, play Les Paul harps and they’re all geared up in white like they’re going to a Diddy party on the Hamptons).

I can’t remember anything I ever thought about during the showers of my youth. This morning I thought about lots of things, like why Carol Brady and not Alaska’s first daughter got bounced from Dancing With the Stars. I thought about tomorrow and making up for a missed workout. I thought about something big that will soon be happening in my life (Don’t worry, you’ll read all about it on these pages).

Lastly, I thought about Milli Vanilli


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