Fire.

There are two kinds of restlessness. Both make you uncomfortable. Both make you do things you wouldn't have thought you were capable of. Both have the ability to consume your senses and douse them in the kind of atomic movement that resembles the Doordarshan screen of the yesteryears during interruptions in telecasts.

But they're radically different, these two kinds of restlessness. One will make you feel like you're wasting away your time and depress you. And the other will make you feel like you're wasting time and will fire you up. It will not let you sit still in your chair, nerve endings wrung out as the fire pokes at your vey being, quietly droning Get up get up get up get up getupgetupgetupgetupgetup Do something do something do something dosomethinggetupgetupgetup and you feel the desperation of that fire. You feel that desire sweep through you and make you want to do something radical. Something you haven't done before or in very long. Something good. Like weave a story that's been forming in your head in bits and pieces for years. Or a poem that you've been indulging in foreplay with, but never quite managed to make torrid love to. Or draw. Just doodle. Or take up that abandoned plastic packet that makes crinkling sounds at the slightest touch but quiets down as you dip into it and fish out beads and wires and other such to string into beautiful forms and shapes.

Don't sit still and wait for it to pass - this fire doesn't light up too easily, or too often. So you can't afford to let it die in vain, because every time it comes alive, you come alive. In those moments, you are every maginificent thing you dreamt you would be. You are awesome. And you can make things happen.

My advice to you? Go feed it. It's exactly what i'm doing.