The Coming Thunder

Less than two weeks until I go to Japan.

I was thinking about it a few minutes ago, as I sat on the old playhouse my father built my brother and I when we were younger. There is something about being outside for a coming storm that I just love; I'd love it even more if I lived near the beach and could go there to watch the storms form and rush in from the ocean. It's exhilerating to feel that power in the very air, the oppression that comes right before a storm. The wind is picking up; all the weather channels cry "Storm! Storm!" and their radar shows a blank green wave heading inexorably towards Atlanta; and the sky is a dismal magenta-sulphur color, city lights reflected from clouds. The air is warm with increasing energy.

I love it. I just love it.

Anyway, as I sat there with the wind pulling at me, swinging my legs, I started thinking about Japan. I really, even now, have no idea what it's going to be like. People ask if I'm excited, if I'm looking forward to it; and I am, in an academic sense. But I haven't felt it yet. I don't think I will really feel it until I get there, and then I'll probably just adapt. I get excited so much about little things (thunderstorms, leaves uncurling, etc) that I don't feel as excited about the big ones (living in another country for four months). Yes, of course I'm excited, but it's just not real the way the cry of one bird in the empty parking lot is.

Well, I'm off to a bar, maybe. Being 21 amuses me.