|Lucky Brand jacket; thrifted Gap blouse; thrifted Joe's Jeans; Dolce Vita suede ankle boots; Old Navy belt; Forever 21 and Charming Charlie bracelets|
It's been raining for three days straight, the kind of cold, piercing rain that stabs straight into your bones and makes you want to hide at home in your sweatpants watching Anne of Green Gables all day. I am not one for rainy days. I think it takes a certain kind of person to thrive in them. These people embrace melancholy and live in houses with dark, heavy furniture. They drink a lot of whiskey, and listen to opera, and journal morose poetry about a post-apocalyptic world reminiscent of a Cormac McCarthy novel.
The same kind of cataclysmic, grim landscape that pervades this poetry is exactly what the view outside my window reminds me of right now. McCarthy's characters battle starvation and desperate, hopeless situations. They face cannibalistic hoards of nomads, electrical storms, and brutal weather. Stormy days aside, I'm thankful to avoid such lyrical horror and cocoon myself at home on the couch, huddled in layers, glaring at the clouds rushing by.