Letter of complaint

Dear Rain God:

I apologize profusely for not knowing your name. Believe me, I have much respect for your status as a deity and a supernatural being. But perhaps your name has fled from the general consciousness of humans because...well, there's no way to put this nicely.

WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, AND WHY DO YOU THINK MAKING UP FOR YOUR ABSENCE IS A GOOD IDEA????

Have you been asleep? On vacation? Chained to a rock somewhere with a bird tearing out your liver? Cursed by another god and surviving just fine as a saguarro cactus in Arizona? Where?

From an administrative standpoint, it's farily obvious that you let your e-mail pile up, and then once you answered all those requests, you pulled an all-nighter and answered them all "yes." Individually. Even though some of them arrived a couple of years ago.

(It reminds me of this time I ordered a maternity bra from an online company. They were out of stock and neglected to tell me, but they didn't bill me either. Ten months later they called and asked if I still wanted the bra, and I said, the baby's six months old and my breasts occasionally look like footballs--alternatively fully inflated, or empty and pathetic, several times a day--so um, no, I don't need a maternity bra any more, but would you happen to have something for this football problem of mine? They recommended something with hydraulics that I couldn't really afford, plus it was a pain in the ass to have to cart the power source (Honda generator) through the grocery store and manage the baby in the shopping cart at the same time.)

Point is. Needs change. Just because you're a god and all doesn't excuse you being slow on the uptake and then trying to make up for it.

Let's get specific. Last year, during the whole month of June, my city received .34 inches of rain. No, not 34, ZERO POINT THREE FOUR inches. As in, less than one.Inch. You could have generated that much by sneezing in your sleep, and I suspect (and hope) this was the case, rather than a half-conscious trip to the bathroom, which I don't even want to think about.

Your performance over the last couple of years has been pathetic. It was so bad in 2005 that once, when I was asleep, I awoke delighted to hear water hitting my bedroom window. Rain! I thought. I was elated. I was also sad because I couldn't wake my husband up and tell him, since he was in California doing the Tech Ed thing. Anyway, then I realized that the water was only hitting ONE window. So I looked out the front door. A small whorl of dust came in and settled at my feet. I swear I heard a whistle and a harmonica in the distance.

Then I went outside, and discovered that the sprinkler had blown a head and the water was shooting up in a geyser and hitting my window. It wasn't raining. It was just my plumbing hemorrhaging.

This month, we've gotten (in case you haven't kept track yourself) 9.7 inches so far, and you seem to be planning on sending us more on each of the remaining days of the month. Um, are you compensating for something?

So. Though we humans really appreciate the rain...okay not all. I'm sure those four people who have died in the flooding in Texas didn't really appreciate it, nor the people who have to repair the roads, but, well, most of us really appreciate the rain you've sent us. And we're very happy the drought has technically ended. The ducks and golfers in my neighborhood are particularly happy, and for that I commend you.

But even so, you can stop with the rain now.

Really. Just stop. Delete all those e-mail requests; you've granted their requests already!

Stop!

I'm really missing that sun god. What's his name again...