62%- approximately how often the sky responds usually it tells me to lay off caffeine or lay off romance or to forgive myself, cause 'for chrissakes no one else will if I can't' 47% is approximately how often the earth becomes jealous of this lofty exchange usually muttering entreaties not to forget about it- that my worries would be farther and few should I simply sit down from time to time to baptize my motivations in the good mud. The sun becomes monosyllabically irate 3% of the time "Hey. Hey! YOU! HEY!" Lunar crooning aloes my ears for 9%, there, there, lost one. 98% of the clouds tell me to move but the percentages are all off, so I'll **** a finger raise it to the wind and let some humour front into my apprehension, because the weather tells great jokes, because no matter how wrong the weatherman is, there's always at least a 50% chance of sun.