Moody

I should be in a great mood. School's out; grading's mostly done; I have my health, and the World Cup Soccer tournament--in which I am moderately interested--has begun. I should be laughing.

But I'm not.

I feel this vague sense of malaise which manifests itself in a kind of grouchiness about pretty much everything.

I'd kick the dog if I were the dog-kicking kind of person. Instead, I beat my own head against the wall. Figuratively. Figurative head, figurative wall.

I remember walking through the Haight-Ashbury in 1975 on a typically foggy San Francisco summer morning on my way to Tai Chi class which was held on the Panhandle in Golden Gate Park. I can still smell that burnt coffee and sweatsocks smell of the cool moist air.

This thought went through my head: we are our moods.

I still think that's true. What else are we than the feelings we are having at this moment now?

One might answer: our thoughts, our bodies, our relationships.

I would respond: but those are all determined--at least to some degree--by the mood we are in.

When I'm happy, all is right with the world. When I'm grouchy, this place sucks.

I'm always impressed by how hard it is to shake a mood--at least a bad one. Coffee's not working, that's for sure.

Perhaps if I got some good news about the world...but I don't mean another cheery report on how our military has killed another person.

I take no great pleasure in the death of al-Zarqawi. I was particularly sickened to see his death mask photo held up in the press conference announcing his killing. This strikes me as the contemporary western version of dragging his body through the streets.

Instead of celebrating life, we are asked to celebrate death.

No wonder I'm in such a crummy mood.