It's Sunny Here in Chicago and No One Knows What To Do
I don't know what to do. I'm at a loss. It's nearly 80 degrees Fahrenheit. It's Sunny. It's a Saturday in April. And I feel this immense pressure to be outside. And if I'm not outside I internally scold myself for not being outside. So, I go outside on my balcony to write. And I am immediately hit with strong winds and pollutant smells. And I'm uncomfortable. And unhappy.
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.