I have a secret obsession. It's scandalous. It's long-lasting. It's steamy...literally.
My name is Michelle, and I'm obsessed with the weather.
My dream job is to be a meteorologist. No really, a meteorologist.
Whenever I watch the news, I start to foam at the mouth during the weather segments. It has nothing to do with being on TV; it's all about THE WEATHERS.
I'm obsessed with the weather.
I have no idea where this obsession came from, but I've had it as long as I can remember. I remember learning about the water cycle and the different types of clouds in elementary school and telling everyone who would listen all I knew about cumulous clouds. I grew up with my dad constantly checking the weather online and measuring rainfall with his rain gauge hanging on the wooden fence in the backyard. Today, he has a fancy weather station that measures everything that can be measured. He could report the weather from his living room with more accuracy than the local meteorologist.
Ok, so maybe I get it honestly. I live for the day I have my own backyard in which I can measure rainfall and windspeed. The thought alone makes me weak in the knees.
Storms used to terrify me, but now they fill me with boundless joy. The summer we moved to Ohio, I saw my first funnel cloud. I was petrified. Terrified. But somewhere along the road, my fear turned into an undying and deep love. A threat of tornadoes will still paralyze me with fear (I grew up in earthquake country!), but a part of me still feels the tiniest bit jealous of all those who live in tornado alley. SO MUCH DRAMA ALL SUMMER LONG.
I have 6 (SIX!) weather apps on my phone that I check at least once an hour. Nothing brings me greater joy than to know the weather forecast. I was known for it at work. All day long, people would ask me the weather forecast. If there was even a hint of a storm, my dual computer monitors were covered in weather radars, and I would quickly pull up Microsoft Outlook if someone walked by. It was completely acceptable to check the weather, but I figured that something that gave me that much joy at work must surely be wrong. When I finally got a desk by the window, I nearly died from happiness. It wasn't about the sunlight or the people watching; it was about a firsthand view of the weather. If I heard someone question the weather for the weekend, I would pop over my cube and give a thorough hourly forecast. When I left for maternity leave, all those sitting around me could only ask "but how will we know the weather??"
James shares my love of weather. The very first time we hung out together, I went to visit him while he was house-sitting for a friend. We turned on the TV and watched a documentary about tornadoes, each of us completely enthralled. Tornado documentaries are our candlelit dinner. Whenever there's a storm out, we'll turn the local news on and James will hunt for the telltale hook on the radar--the indication that a tornado is forming--and we'll high five when the meteorologist points to it.
We like to think we know everything. Please do not...(wait for it)...rain on our parade.
We text each other about the weather every day. Now that it's summer, my new favorite topic of weather-related conversation is the dew point. I'll text him, aghast at a 70 degree dew point, that we'll probably have pop-up storms this afternoon. And then I look out the window every hour and scour the sky for storm clouds. I already love pointing out a good thunderhead to Gracie. James will walk outside on his breaks and send me pictures of storm clouds. I turn on the local news and watch the meterologists melodramatically describe the clouds and wind gusts while I sit on the edge of the couch like I'm watching an action-thriller.
I tend to hate summer since it includes all my least-favorite things: sweat, shorts, sweat, bathing suits, sweat, humidity, sweat, mosquitos, and sweat. But I love it for the storms. The storms! I like to think my love of storms comes from my penchant for drama. Some women stir up drama in social situations, but I get my fill through the weather. I get high off extreme weather. Whenever a forecasted storms fails to come to fruition, I feel like I've been stood up on a date. Give me rain, give me hail, give me record-breaking blizzards. Just give me something to track on a weather map.
You might be wondering why I didn't go to school for meteorology. Three words: math and physics. My brain does not work that way. I followed my strengths instead and studied English, which means I'm doomed to a life writing about my love of the weather.
I could think of worse things.