Rainy days.

When the sky grows grey, the thunder rolls, and the heavens cry, on go the sweat pants. Off comes the makeup. Down roll the tears. Out go your cares. The only thing to worry about is how many boxes of tissues are left, how much ice cream remains, and which chick flick will be watched next after this one.

Questions rolling in your mind. Not getting out of bed. Well, maybe just to get one more box of chocolate to replace the one you just inhaled.

On comes Patsy Cline, Norah Jones, John Mayer. You push the show tunes and upbeat tempos farther back into the dark abyss that is underneath your bed.

Rainy days.

Some people put on there rain boots and jump in mud puddles, catching drops of precipitation on their tongues as they trot along. Then, there are the others. Those of us who see it as that day of reality where we can take off the everyday masks we wear, and grow angry with the world.