Thunderstorms

Yesterday, I decided that, because it was pouring and thundering, I would go for a walk.  So, I donned my medieval cape and began my quest down the drive.  I got to my destination, the creek, and stood on the bank, watching it swell, and wondering, "If I fall in, will I automatically drown, or will someone fish me out? And if so, who?  There's no one around for miles.  And if there is, it's weekend vacationing old people.  Not exactly an example of romanticism, whatever that is." 

So I wondered.  Then I began to sing.  Just because.   Then it really began to rain.  Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I had a burst of energy that drew me from my clouded morbidness.  I ran around, laughing and running as fast as I could.  It was a moment of insanity that I have not told anyone about until now.  But, hey, it was fun.  My cape was flying behind me, the flower in my hair was getting soaked, and I was happier than ever.  I almost slipped on the creek bank, so my moment of romantic morbidness almost came true.  

Anyway, I think I am the only one in my family that has an infatuation with thunderstorms.  My mom doesn't really care, my dad doesn't like them, and all the childrens are afraid of them.  Usually, if there is a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, my parents have at least three children in bed with them.  They draw the line at the ten and twelve year olds.  ( :  It's a little sad all the constant screaming and crying that happens at our house during thunderstorms, it's louder than the thunder. 

It generally ends up like this:  Dad in his recliner, Mom and 3 children in her bed,  2 older children screaming and crying and clinging to each other, me in my bed all by my lonesome, trying to sleep above the children's screaming (pillow over the ears works great).