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The calm before the storm

And then I felt the stagnant pool. Luke warm.

Comfortable, possibly, but the sacrifice of vitality. 

It's time to mow the lawn. Make sure the clothes are folded and the cat is in. Brush my teeth. Make my bed. Put on the dishwasher. Tidy the cupboard and clean the bathroom.

Busy work, that never gets done. There is always more to do, and it's all so mundane. Sure it needs to be done, but there is no marrow. 

It is not life. 

I look into the mirror, knowing that I am missing the thrill and the passion and the white knuckles.

What happened to my beating heart?

Where did the wild man go? 

What happened to the energetic intense man with the piercing eyes? That innovative, crazy bastard, who travel countries rich and strange.

I know he's still there, but recently he's been overwhelmed by minutiae, focused on shit that doesn't matter. Buying things he doesn't need to impress people he doesn't (want to be) like. 

The fresh breeze, laden with moisture from the sea, visited him. It announced itself with a slap, calling him out for the indecisiveness, the cowardice. 

Stop waiting for the right time, it's right now. 

When? Right now.

This has been building for a while, and the excuses are just that... Excuses. Distractions. I can feel them fading, like the volume is being turned down. 

The storm is coming, building from the inside, roaring from a portal of volatile fury, ready to snap. 

I know there will be great relief, and a huge outpouring of energy. I can feel the electricity in the ether.

The storm is coming. 

I am the storm.

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