Joy of all feelings (is it an emotion?) is one we can least order around. It seems most likely to pay a call when there’s no one home.
Here’s the subtext; you think you have it bad, consider x, y, and z, and be grateful, wretch.
Wait a minute. I don’t think I have it bad. I have it awfully good. Good health, loving friends and family, work that’s creative, and it’s a Saturday morning and the radar on sfgate shows a humongous yellow blob of a rain cloud making shore. I hear the beginning murmur on the roof. Of course I could be mistaking it for squirrels gamboling.
Sonja, visiting last week, upgraded to first class before she flew down from Seattle. She laughed telling me how incensed she was to see a spot of tomato juice on the glass she was given.
Aggravations and dissatisfactions always seem to grow to a status befitting their own strange logic, like the splinter in my palm, so small I can’t even see it, nagging until I get up and do some minor surgery. Blood puts things in context.
Not squirrels, it’s really raining. Rejoice. I do.
Now what the hell did I do with my umbrella?