Tonight I drove home, in the dark, through a vicious rainstorm.
It was 64 degrees here this morning at 8 a.m., and it is now 48 degrees at almost 10 p.m. Can you chant me Cold Front, Cold Front? Yeah, baby, I thought you could. Meteorological serendipity, thy name is 5 p, TODAY!!
As it became all too soon all too clear, the cold front and I were commuting partners. It swept the streets of debris and dust, poured gouts of rain to clean the streets of distracting flotsam, wiped leaves from the surface in tumults of blinding scree, apparently trying to be helpful. RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, THE WHOLE TIME.
Well, no. Not so helpful.
The windshield wipers on RED ALERT did nearly nothing to unobfuscate the wretched scrim of droplets pushed against the glass almost immediately after every pass of the blade. The road markings were visible only because they're made of tape and therefore stick up enough to divert water from its naturally falling path enough to provide some miniature dam-like, and therefore topographical, effect. Approaching cars blared headlights over the flopping greasy efforts of the wipers, blazing smears of unwelcome lights across the entire view like a blast of sun under a visor in late afternoon. Seen, known, but unexpected and tremendously irksome (and dangerous).
Dear God how I hate driving in the rainy dark.
Even more so when there is a passenger in the car.
Which, there was.
On the plus side, he is a GOOD passenger, and only made note of his discomfort ONCE when I may or may not have almost not stopped in time at the new crazy-assed intersection at that bridge over that main highway not far from here, so it's cool. We'd come so far in the deluge up to that point that missing the stop by 1.5 car lengths could be forgiven, so hey it's OK.
Crazy stupid cold front. Racing through here like you have a RIGHT to change this weather, impact my ride, endanger my life, and douse this bit of world with sloppy wet.
If it weren't for the dangerous nutso life-threatening commute, I might love you a little. You're just THAT wicked.
Now blow me a breeze to take me to morning, and we're all set.