We were pummeled by rain yesterday in Baltimore. The house was dark and cold, even with the window shades open - that dim, ineffectual light that has a primal resonance to hibernation. I had to stay home from work, because with the combination of driving rains, a very old roof, and a disappointingly lax landlord, there were leaks. After each particularly scary moonsoon blitz, I ran from room to room, listening intently for the drip-drip-drip of damage. Worrying that the roof would simply give up and cave in upon my poor housemate upstairs.

All the while trying not to connect the dots in my head, trying to ignore the fact that my creaky, leaky, potentially-falling-apart place of residence is, at times, a very apt metaphor for my life.

(n.b. - Everyone on my block seemed to stay at home yesterday. Either rowhouse renovations aren't what they're cracked up to be, or my personal hiberation urges struck a chord with the Fells Point crowd.)