They Call it Stormy Tuesday

In the predawn hours today, a clap of thunder not only awakened me, it caused me to jack knife into a sitting position and left me panting like a Collie.
This is the kind of rainstorm that might end up on CNN later today, where the local citizens are seen driving down their streets in little motorboats, trying to save dogs on roofs.
Thunderstorms like this make me paraphrase Sophie B. Hawkins: Damn, I wish I had a lover. Storms like this alone in bed are just jarring, that's all. With a lover I could at least *act* protective and reassuring. Hrumph.
My twitchy kitties are doing an elaborate furniture clawing ritual to appease the Rain Gods. It's not working.
This is not a day to drive. Naturally, I have a doctor's appointment 15 miles away, groceries to buy and banking to do. Thank God for rubber Birkenstocks. I am not risking my All Weather Sports Mocs on this shit.
I can forget about going to The TipTop Cafe today, too. No BLT for me, I gained a pound yesterday eating all that Thai food, not to mention half a large Cadbury orange chocolate bar, two large lemon cheesecake cookies and some chunks of white sharp cheddar cheese I got in Massachusetts.
My zit remains in about the same shape as yesterday. I coated it with tea tree oil, only to find my nutty kitty James trying to lick it off my face as I slept last night. That's just wrong, I told him.
He didn't listen.