Enjoying Bad Weather

The sea kept me awake all of last night, though it didn't disturb Em. A roaring in the background, swelling and receding, but always there. It crept into my dreams too; flooding water rising and bursting banks, steps leading down into dark untrustworthy liquid. Old dogs were there too, Bruno and Bracken and Bess, happily living in the interior of what looked like some kind of ship.
From the call centre, the fourth floor view was obscured by the rain pelting itself against the windows. I watched with fascination the glass warp and shiver, the distance get swallowed up by clouds. Through all the commotion I could see the sea, brown and foamy, untrustworthy and dangerous as the water in my dreams though somewhat wilder. It was so dark that the day did indeed feel like a dream. Surreal crepuscular hours. Watching a strange armageddon outside while talking about child trust funds and Post Office ISAs.
The weather, like some poltergeist, set off the fire alarms, and we all had to troop outside and wait by the entrance to the cinema. Blistering rain and wind so strong it nearly pushed people over, flinging water every way, salty and stinging. The smokers tried to roll cigarettes and the rest of us talked about the hurricane of 1987.
Half an hour later the fire alarm, for the same reason, went off again. We went out by the cinema once more. I was on my break at the time, so managed to take my coffees with me. Everyone pretended to be annoyed and miserable, but were all secretly enjoying this unexpected distraction.
I met Em at lunch, and we had coffee in Waterstones. By the time we had finished coffee, the sun had come out and everything had calmed down and it started to feel more palatable, even spring-like.
I pretended to be pleased, but I was longing for the bad weather.
It is January after all.