Rainy days make me feel like a hermit crab.
Back when I was 5 or 6 and my family would go on beach vacations, my prerogative took me to one place and one place only - the hermit crab section of the sea shell shop. Sure, the ocean waves and sand were a nice treat, but the waves knocked me over and scared me, and sand annoyed me with its ability to sneak into absolutely everything. There was no pressure to get a tan as a small child, so laying out for hours baking in the sun offered little reward. But those tiny creatures with their cartoon-like appearance and awkward claws, that was something to look forward to.
I always picked out the tiniest crabs I could find. They were my favorite, gems I found after sifting through the crabs that every other kid picked out because they were gigantic or had taken on the sparkly painted shells. My little treasures.
Much to my mother's dismay, I would release them in our condo to freely crawl about the land. Now, I thought I was showing them a whole new world of exciting things, but, they were for the most part disinterested. They weren't even interested in me; they would crawl on me for a while, pinch my hand and then recoil into their shells. When they were bored, scared, tired, or basically not walking around or eating, they retreated into those itty bitty shells, and I wondered what was in there that was so damn appealing.
Now I finally think that I understand. It's a rainy day in Baltimore, and after a stressful weekend that took me to the hospital, I have no desire to be anywhere aside from my shell. I'm retreating; those little guys knew the art of doing nothing.
