make more terrible decisions, and then we'll talk This black wall cloud. This lumbering, menacing, elemental spaceship. With its 13 black tentacle arms scraping across the landscape each a low, slow wall of water, persistent, cleansing. In its wake, a lilac and blue sky, a Turner painting from behind the mirror. Are you the kind of person who likes to watch the storm, or be in the storm? Or would you stand on the deciding line, paralyzed and ululating? That's what I'm thinking as I crane my head around wildly, trying to drive. Careening all over the road to get a glimpse of this spectacle, trying to see why it chose this path with me not in it. Ah, I want to be in it. Next time, maybe, it says. Make more terrible decisions, and then we'll talk. Be less of an optimist, use less smiley faces in your emails, and less exclamation points. Stop singing karaoke. Stop driving too fast with the radio up. Stop being honest with people and yourself, and then maybe you'll look up one day and see me: this churning, rotating cloud ready to push you down to the ground until you cry for release and redemption. Until then, it says, carry on.