wringing the rain from my hair

I don't know why I continually reject my own offer of clemency.

I could have rolled over and slept for another dream-drenched hour, but instead I muscled my way out from under the covers and was soon walking through a soaking gray morning with a red umbrella way too structurally weak to handle the biggest of the raindrops and the wildest of the gusts of wind.

I am frustrated, but I hope my frustration would have been worse if I had driven to work instead.