Sometimes, I feel an urge to do things. Things, thing, anything. I feel I need to act, even though I know that there is nothing that I need to do.

It's a strange feeling. It's electric, like current flowing through my arms and legs, unsettling. My eyes dart around and my tongue sits uneven in my mouth. No matter how much I shift around, I'm always sitting uncomfortably. There's no winning, when I feel like this. Everything is wrong, for a while. The worst part? Even if I do something, hoping to humour this nervousness, it spites me and refuses to leave. I suppose that, after all, there really wasn't anything to do.

Eventually, it does go away. I'm not sure there's any rhyme or reason to its whereabouts. Maybe there was someone else in the world more deserving of the curse, so it simply up and left to haunt some other poor fella.

What I'm left with, in its absence, is the realisation that, truthfully, I can just not act. I don't need to do anything! I can stop.

Inaction.

Everyone rushes, everything flies by with hands outstretched, hoping to take you along for the ride. On instinct, maybe, you reach out to grab that hand and get pulled away. Maybe you enjoy the thrill of it. Maybe, though, it would be best to remember you can let go.

I wore my dark corduroy pants, today.