People get the rainy day blues… depressed, no reason to look at the sky, unable to believe in an inevitably bright future (like the hot roast beef, cheddar and horse radish sandwich they’ll be eating for lunch), wondering what they could possibly have done in a past life to be born on a planet that gets wet (”Did I drown puppies? Did I pee in someone’s milkshake?”). Me… I don’t have the rainy day blues. What I have is the rainy day laziness. The drive to do anything at all beyond sitting on my chair completely vanquished. But twenty-thousand years of Asian astrology justify this feeling that I embrace. If memory serves me, I was born in the Chinese Year of the Sloth. I love rainy lazy days, love the inability to rise from my bed, love the way when I do finally rise (as good sense will not allow me to rain (or should I say “drain”?) on my sheets) my pillow-made hairstyle supports me in my claim to myself that I cannot leave my apartment. I love the way my drive for coffee overrides my hair vanity, and how afterward my extreme overload of coffee makes me feel so hyper and so lazy at the same contradictory time. I sit with a spastic needlessness to move, think about moving, remain hyperly happily sitting, and dismiss the things I had been planning to do today, but which require too much travel… to the other side of my apartment. Everything can be done another time. The rain won’t last forever. And when the sun is shining again, and when I feel my drive returning, and when it dawns on me that the Chinese Year of the Sloth is just an optimistic figment of false memory, then I will leave this passive rainy day procrastination behind and I will put my new-found energy to use, coming up with much more active and creative ways of putting things off.