A Pondering Paradox's Palace

I lie in bed in my stuffy hot room. Man, I hate hot winters. I’d really like to run downstairs and get a big glass of ice water, but that fuzzy over-tired feeling in my head won’t go away and I’d rather not risk bodily injury trying. Instead, I opt for opening my window. Struggling out of my blankets, I promptly trip over my geometry book that’s lying on the floor after late-hour studying. I always knew math would kill me. I sail gracefully and clutch for the edge of my chair, unfortunately, the chair tips and I am left grasping for the side of my desk. Hauling myself up, I feel my way to the window and pull back the curtains. They bounce happily on their rod, happy to be played with for once. I heave and manage to get the window open slightly. Exhausted by my efforts, I stumble back to my bed and pull the blankets over myself once more.

Suddenly, the slight breeze wafts in the cool, rainy air and I remember why I love rain.

The smell of the rain-soaked earth is like a freshly bleached room. You can see it, shining white and sparkling happily. That’s what the smell of rain is.

I hear the sound of rain gurgling down the storm gutters, it’s chuckling to me.

I hear the rhythmic thudding of the rain on the neighbor’s tin roof, it really is music, and it has words.

Why dontcha come out? Why dontcha come out?

Unfortunately, my fuzz-filled brain is wishing it was asleep. Midnight, no matter how rainy, is too late to go jump in puddles.

By now, my room has reached a comfortable temperature, and I drift off into sleep, thanks to a rainy night.