Drip...Drip...Drip...Drip...Drip

It’s raining here; a nonstop deluge of wetness. It’s loud enough to fill the cabin with a rumble that sits low on the high registry and resonates through your skull. Normally I’d not mind, but it’s distracting. I can’t leave for my Tuesday pizza and beer night like I do every Tuesday. I should be working, but I can’t get into it today so I did other things (find them if you can). The new path for PL is currently trying to set-up like a cut-rate flan in my head. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’d already gotten 3” of rain up here. If it’d been snowing I would have been getting out for weeks. Luckily the temperature is still in the 50s. I think the rain is making me depressed (shut-up Cruise) but maybe it’s just me. It sounds like the foundation could be washing away. It isn’t going to happen, but that’s how hard the rain is coming. I can hear one of the squirrels trying to find a dry place under the eve of the roof. It isn’t possible, which means he’s out there soaked to the bone. I shot rocks at him twice earlier today as he tried to nibble on the house during breaks in the rain. I don’t know why he chews. Is it a nervous habit? Is there something in the wood he craves on some basic level? Is he just a vandal trying to tell us he was here first? What drives that little squirrel brain of his? I wish I knew. Maybe he just wants to get out of the wilderness and into a house. He’d still be dry if he’d just hang out on the front porch. I think I’m starting to feel sorry for him even though I realize he doesn’t even think twice about getting wet, for all I know he likes it. For all I know he melts away in the rain and gets reborn under the soft bed of fallen leaves. Then he tries to climb back up to the roof before he melts again. He does this until the rain stops. I have no proof.