It's raining in Chicago.

It is almost December, and it could be snowing, but, instead it is raining. I really dislike snow in the city. I take that back. I dislike snow the day after it snows in the city. That first day of snow, as it falls beautifully and quietly on the ground, God confirms to my soul that nature rests and so should I. The morning after a snowfall the cars have turned the pretty white into ugly masses of grey slush, and your boots get wet with it and your face is red from the wind off the lake. The worst part of it all is there is no sledding hill down the street, or place to ski an hour away that makes the snow worthwhile. In the city it sits and gets dirty, piles up and stays too long.

As I said, it is not snowing. It is raining. And all I am really doing is procrastinating an essay I'm attempting to write for a contest for school. It is coming along terribly and I am about to give up. Perhaps the subject is just touchy. I've been attempting to write about text messaging and how it creates false reality and relationship, and a personal story of how a friend of mine created several false realities with several girls, hurting many, many people in the process. For some reason, it is just not working. Oh well.

I'm glad it is raining and not snowing for now. I know in a week I will wish for snow, and even long for it here in the city. Only for a moment, as it falls, I'll enjoy it. I'll believe that it will stay that way forever, snowflake by snowflake falling perfectly to the ground and piling into rolling blankets of bliss. Until the morning comes, until the morning my false reality of the quiet, sleeping city covered in an untouched snow, will be my reality.