the power of sighs

"Huuuuuuuhhhh" I sighed dramatically as I took a left turn along the rainy mega-store-framed street.  "Hhhhhuuuuuuuh" I sighed once again, thinking back on the dramatic slip and fall in the parking lot that had happened five minutes before.  Though my ample hip had broken my fall, I remained semi-reclined on the icy cement, pinned beneath my bicycle for a few moments, too listless to pick myself up, too apathetic to feel much shame, too surprised to laugh at myself.  "Maybe I'll just stay here forever, on this icy ground beneath my bicycle," I had considered thoughtfully.  

Sigh.

With my mind back on the dreary road in front of me, I thought to myself, "maybe I need to break the cycle of negative sighs".  Ok, I didn't think it, I said it out loud, because I'm one of THOSE people.  I followed this idea with the most contented sigh I could summon (haaaaaah), followed by a childish laugh that was born from a mixture of amusement and girlish delight.  "I think that worked!" I said smiling excitedly to myself.  I sighed contentedly again, and again, each time feeling slightly better.  One sigh sounded like the kind that one lets out after laughter; another sounded like the breath of relief during a disturbingly long pee; another sounded like the satisfied exhalation after a brisk walk in the fresh winter air (you know, the kind of sigh that says "I put pants on, left the house, and exercised.  What did you do?  Oh, you were on reddit for the last hour and you're still wearing yesterday's underpants?" as if that wasn't you a mere 24 hours ago).  

I had no idea there were so many different happy sighs, and I was thrilled to try them all out.  Was my brain so gullible that it could be fooled into thinking I was guru-level content?  Yes, briefly at least.

You call this rain?

Dear diary,

What is the deal with all of these Germans walking around in the rain with their hoods down?  Do they not know what that warm, cup-shaped thing attached to the neck of their jackets is used for?  Do they enjoy a second shower?  Do they delight in frizzy hair?  Do they love getting sick?  Are they trying to prove something, like some prideful Seattle-ite that thinks that only they hold the secret knowledge as to what real rain looks like?

"You call this rain?" I remember my dad frequently saying, smugly crossing his arms, and smirking as he put away his umbrella.  Yes.  That is rain.  Rain is any kind of water droplets that with enough time, will leave your clothes stained with moisture, and I for one do not want to get wet.  I don't want to have to towel myself off, I don't want my meticulously flat-ironed hair to revert to full frizz, I do not want a second shower, and I do not want to catch somebody's nasty, phlegm-laden cough.

XOXO Katarina

grumble

 "For fuck's sake!" I whispered not so quietly as I stomped along the cobblestone.  It felt satisfying audibly swearing in public.  Is this what it felt like to be unhinged?  If so, it was liberating, and I wanted more of it.  I had spent the majority of my walk to work fiddling with my headphones, trying to get the music app to play a song and pep me up for the beginning of my work day.  I was unsuccessful in the end, and eventually resigned to using my useless device as glorified earmuffs.  I grumbled as I walked in the rain, painfully aware of my misbehaving hair and rain-sprinkled glasses.  
"For. Fuck's. Sake."