The Merry Month Of Rain
Evil started spewing out of her mouth and ears, this multitude of cockroach, like they were tokens being coughed out of a winning slotmachine.
Yet the dream, quite unnerving, was still no match to my real life horror of waking up one night to the grisly, fluttering sensation of something hovering within a hair's breadth, actually, grazing my face, which so disgustingly turned out to be a flying cockroach. Aaaa. The frozen scream in my throat left me traumatized for a week. And, for some reason, all these remind me of moth chrysalis being shoved down some luckless dead woman's throat by Buffalo Bill, the crazy cross-dressing dude 'who wants a vest with tits on it', in The Silence Of The Lambs, which left me forever in dread of being size 14.
I am thinking about the many good things about the month of May, much as cockroaches must be thrown into the deal, for like an extension to the dream, I saw these three cockroaches taking liberties at my space, as I went to make coffee this morning. They must smell the coming of rain, which makes them seek shelter and look out for their bits and orts indoors, in my kitchen, which incidentally gave opportunity to unleash my hidden sadistic tendencies. Oh yes, theirs was a slow, slow way to go, and not by trampling of a heavy slippered foot, but bathed in a deadly stream of chilied vinegar, and shakes of cayenne red pepper, on their shiny upturned bodies , gross and undignified, and shat in their death.
The merry month of May sees the end of summer and the coming of rain. And to mention, Mother's Day, two birthdays, a wedding and a death anniversary, which normally, in the past, would only have me thinking 'What would I wear?' Nowadays, I can only wonder why I seem to barely have the time for a million other things, with so many needing to be done by the end of the month, and here you can throw in a Children's camp, a Repertory recital, and a weekend encounter for couples, not to mention MI:3, Poseidon and The Da Vinci Code. I also noticed how green mangoes do not ripen as beautifully as they did during April, when they transition, buried in the rice bin, from their newly plucked and sappy firm green into their sweet and juicy mango yellow, all in about six and a half days. These days they shrivel and crinkle before they ripen, which hastens you to eat them before they turn spotty, so the enjoyment of it pales in comparison to the epiphanies of the previous weeks. Like I said, it must be the rain ...
Rain that drops reluctantly still, but otherwise smells and feels all around, in the grey afternoons of dank and overcast humidity, in the sting of sweat, brought about by undecided weather, that trickles out of your pores, and certainly in the raw smell of the earth that rises from the ground that gives warning signals to the birds and the cockroaches that start acting peculiar. The critters, they must feel it in their bones, as I do, and I really don't know about them, but ask me, I like it. And that's because rain never fails and is the making of a merry month indeed.
Filed Under: Randomly
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