It’s raining outside.  The clouds are low and gray, and it’s raining outside.  The shades are up, and I stare at the window rather than my computer.  I haven’t moved from my seat in hours.  It’s raining outside, but I’d rather be in the muggy heat and feel the rain on my face than in this computer lab so cold I’m wearing a hoodie and fingerless gloves while huddled under a fleece blanket in the middle of August.  The screen glares at me, data screaming from the spreadsheet’s maelstrom, screaming that I’m the only one who can bring order to their world – but it’s raining outside.  Water streams down the glass haltingly – nature’s fingers listlessly sliding down the cold barrier, her forehead of humidity pressed so hard against the glass it’ll leave behind a grease mark, and her tears falling to the sill.  She doesn’t need permission to be sad, or a clear reason.  She just is, and that’s okay.  My phone beeps with a notification, and I’ve been staring at the window for ten minutes.  The ceaseless cries of the data force themselves to the forefront of my thoughts.  The backs of my eyeballs throb.  I close the shades, returning to search for gaps in a time series two-and-a-half years long.  Days, week, months scroll by in five-minute intervals.  It’s raining outside.