It's something about the smell of Saturdays in the springtime
I keep waiting for the magic to come. Something special, to satisfy this tingling anticipatory prophetic feeling. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for something to jump out at me, waiting for something to fall in my lap. And maybe it's that "waiting" part that's getting to me, on two counts. I am by nature both impatient and lazy - an odd combination, but it works - but if this magic is something that is simply a product of time and not effort, or if the waiting is the problem and I actually need to be more active to bring things about, then whatever it is I'm sensing on the horizon is going to melt away before it even comes into view.