Everyone once in awhile the world conspires to suit my mood accordingly. Today it is doing a splendid job. Outside, throughout the city, a tempest is brewing. Winds whip around doorways, finding their way through cracks in windows and walls, and turn my hair into a bird’s nest, capable of trapping all nearby twirling debris. There is no rain, that would not be dramatic enough. No, rains would only temper the rage churning at the heart of it all, make it soft and less wild. I woke up annoyed, and just got angrier. Now, it is beyond my control, kept civil only by a brittle varnish of civility. When I stepped out of my doorway this morning to face the lake, shocked at the ferocity of the scene in front of me, I just got this insane urge to run. I almost did it; dropped my bag in the middle of the street, stretched my legs, and took off like a shot, sprinting for all I was worth. I could literally taste what it would feel like, legs pumping wildly beneath me, hair flapping back like a red flag, lungs burning at the exertion, the anger flowing out of me like lancing an infected sore. I wanted to. I really wanted to. But I was already late for work… Instead, I sighed, trudged back inside to grab a warmer jumper, and walked, head down, to the bus stop, carefully stewing my anger in disappointment, and bottling it away for later.