Hurricane Drunk

Really fantastic opinion on the nature of causes below. Read it. Now.
http://meloukhia.net/2011/03/why_im_leaving_feminism.html

I really, really, desperately want it to storm, and storm BIG.

I used to be terrified of thunderstorms. They would wake me up in the night and scatter my dreams with overwhelming sound. My mind would scramble, my ears would ring out in the dark, and naturally I would cry. My parents probably weren't fond of the many times that I would crawl into their bed, between them, scared and convinced that they could protect me from the sound and storm.

Now, thunderstorms have changed. Or rather, I've changed. I can't put my finger on when it happened or why, but the way I see them certainly has changed Storms seem to hold so much power, such charged and wild allure. Billowing, dulled silver warheads ready to burst with liquid, with light, with sound: nature's most potent embodiment of passion. Maybe it's because I'm at that stereotypical age of turmoil and angst and passion and all of that. Or at least, I'm "supposed" to be. I'm not angsty or overzealous, or terribly passionate even. Just me. I won't argue that I'm completely wise or respectable (not in the least); I am young. La jeune vie, une jeune fille. A young, developing mind trying to find a point of balance. Maybe after a good storm, my world will turn green and life-filled, and the air will cool, and the barometer will level out again as the pressure equalizes... 

I know it sounds terribly cheesy, but I feel like I'm waiting for something. The stormclouds of my life are building, and I want them to explode with thunder and light and deliver me some rain already! I don't know what it is I'm waiting for, whether it's college life and everything changing, or if a really important and influential person is going to enter my life; maybe the reader will meet prince charming. God is writing a new, climactic chapter into my life. I can feel the pen on paper, I just need to be patient.

Right now it's pretty hot in my room. Hence why I want it to storm. (Was my storm story a metaphor for inner turmoil or just a simple wish for cooler air? ooooh ahhh...) 

I want the heat to dissipate in serene rain, I want clouds to gather and burst and relieve me of the sleepless nights of tossing on too-warm sheets and pillows. There's a breeze blowing through my window in the deepening blue light; I flip over my pillow and it's snow on sun kissed shoulders. For now at least. Here's to hoping it cools down enough to sleep comfortably and coolly tonight.
"I belong to the hurricane" ~ Florence Welch