I tend to be moody, morose, melodramatic. No, really. And I used to nourish that part of me, that glass-half-empty, woe-is-me, gloom-despair-and-agony-on-me personality. Your dad is sick? Mine died. Your pants are tight? Mine won’t zip. Your hair is frizzy? Uh, did you see what is rooted to my head?
That sad fog creeps in tonight, blotting out the horizon and erasing the forest, but not the trees. All I know is that my Reluctant Student has issues with sequencing, with memory, with his multiplication tables. I’m in the lull between reading books. January 2006 was the rainiest January ever here. My right pointer finger hurts. I’m retaining water and I have a cavity but no dental insurance.
See how good I am at that? I wandered through my entire adolescence in a melancholy mood. I can mope with the best of them. I know that once I start, I could end up drowning in my own bad press.
At least now I know it’s just a mood, not a fact. The rain will stop. The fog will lift. A forest lurks behind the trees.