One Hundred and Seven

Cutting to the bad weather, I could feel the blows; I wanted to say they "rained" on me, but they just drizzled. I was sick, but I dubbed it. I was sick, but I was phoning it in. I was ponying it up. They had ponied me up with all that blame: the wrong weather, I thought. It was the saddest feeling I knew, and I almost had myself to blame, mostly.