Caught in the rain

When caught in the rain, one goes through a mental and emotional process similar to
that of a griever:

Denial:  “I will NOT get wet.  If I keep the umbrella tilted into the wind
and avoid puddles, I can make it home dry.”

Anger:  “Dammit! 
Why does it have to be so f***ing windy? 
My pantlegs are getting soaked.”

Sadness:  “Sigh. 
At least I have a nice, warm, dry place to return to.  So many people in the world don’t even have
that basic comfort.”

Acceptance:  “Screw it.  I’m already soaked, so I might as well enjoy
the walk home and the sound of the rain pattering on the streets and
sidewalks.  Much worse things could be
happening to me right now–life isn’t so bad.”

At least
this was my mental and emotional process as I walked home from Penn’s library
last night.  My emotions were accentuated
by the fact that I had locked myself out of my apartment yesterday morning, so
I had to kill time for four hours until Paul came home from work, which was
quite aggravating since I had plenty of work of my own to be getting done–all
of which was stored on my computer INSIDE the locked apartment. 

***

Note:  I am not seriously equating the grieving
process with getting stuck in the rain–I only entertained the comparison
kiddingly as I waded home in the rain across 15 city blocks, taking note of the
series of reactions I had to my hardly serious situation.