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It's raining, it's pouring

Image by Flickr user Stephen_Downes

Image by Flickr user Stephen_Downes

It was spitting when I finally left the office at 7:15PM last night.  Just a few drops of rain.  And I was walking along Castlereagh, then down Pitt, so I could safely shelter under shop awnings as I walked.

Once I turned down Liverpool, it started to get heavy.  Really heavy.  And, of course, just as I am as far from shelter as I can be on the walk, it started to pour.

There’s no rain quite like a Sydney downpour.

The rest of the walk was pretty much uncovered.  My mum called, and for some reason, we started singing Don Spencer songs- her at home in Shanghai, me walking in Sydney.  It was a good day to be singing, though, because there was no one else around.

By the time I got home, my jacked was soaked through.  As was my shirt, even my bra.  My poor copy of Krugman is worse for the wear.  Megan met me at the door, as I had loaned her my keys during the day, and she asked if I’d been swimming, for my hair was drenched.

I got home, peeled off layers of wet clothes, put on my lovely comfy flannelet pajama pants, my “Kiss Me, I’m Voting for Obama” tank and my genuine, Blue-Mountains-purchased Ugg Boots, and curled up with some popcorn for a while.

It was perfect.

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