Shush. The rain is talking. What is the rain saying? Could everybody please stop talking so I can hear the Talking Rain? Thank you. Thank you so much. What's that, Rain? Could you speak up, Rain? You've said so little lately, it's hard to pick up on the message. You made a very brief appearance the other day. That was nice. You came down loud and clear. It was all, "Look at me, I'm the Rain." Then you stopped. You went away. You're so cruel, Rain. I hear you'll be back later. But when, Rain? When? Come on, Rain. Stop teasing my sinuses and giving my keppy pain. Come back. We need you, Rain. Keep talking, Rain. Keep talking. Even if I'm the only one who can hear you. And if I am the only one who can hear you, Rain, is that a good thing? Or a strong indication that it's time to go up on the meds? As in: "Doctor, the rain is talking to me. What should I do?" "Stop listening." If only I could stop. But I can't. Because I have this can of refreshing peace nectarine sparkling water right in my fridge. And it's called Talking Rain. Yeah, I swiped it during a meeting. I couldn't focus on anything they were saying. All I wanted to hear was the rain talk to me. So I took the Talking Rain home with me. Put it in my handbag and no one noticed. They were too busy talking. Not about the rain. Okay, I'm ready now. Go on, Rain. Talk to me, Rain. Please. Don't hold back. Tell me what's on your mind. I'm all ears.
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