Unsettled

I feel very unsettled today. It's odd. Life outside my hotel window is almost unrecognizable. There's this big yellow thing in the sky, casting a golden glow on the buildings around me. And something chemical must have happened, maybe the hole in the ozone layer exploded or something, because for some bizarre reason, the sky is now blue. And for the first time since I arrived thirteen days ago, it's not raining, or threatening to rain, or blowing hurricane-gale winds against our 7th floor hotel window.

I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. Should I make a run for the grocery store or laundromat ... dare I say, WITHOUT an umbrella?

Speaking of which, what is it about Seattle-ites, who consider you to be a total weiner if you use an umbrella, while most of them simply walk around, stoically facing the wind and rain with their heads uncovered, yet so many wear rainboots? I haven't owned rubber rainboots since I was about five years old. Of course, I also have never lived full-time in Seattle, or maybe I'd break down and buy myself a pair, too. In the meantime, scoff all you like at my marks-me-as-a-tourist-umbrella, at least my head is dry.