The Mask Of Zorrow

I’m trying to keep a smile on my face. Honest, I am.

But this week, “that monotonous gasometer” (as Joyce referred to the sun) has been brutal. I stick my head in the air vent with the A/C going, but that’s just a temporary fix. I still feel like the house is the only thing between me and what I’ve decided is deadly nuclear radiation trapping me inside. Probably all of those War Of The Worlds commercials.

There was good news from Canada and Spain, though, as the rest of the world continues to make life in America 2005 look more and more like a roadshow production of The Crucible. But you knew we’d pay for it.

And so today came the news of Sandra Day O’Connor’s retirement.

And now Knucklehead Smiff gets to make the appointment.

And Rehnquist doesn’t feel too good, either.

It’s a beautiful day in the conservative nutjob neighborhood.

But I’m trying, folks. I’m trying.

It’s interesting the different masks we use when we talk to people, depending on the person or the topic or the situation.

Sometimes you have to dig deep to find that brave and civilized face. Other times, even when things are at their worst, it seems to come from some effortless and magic place.

What is that magic thing? That spark?

Either way, I guess it was all eluding me today, at least going by the reaction of one of the cafeteria workers I walked past today.

The mask must have slipped, because as we drew up close enough to speak as we passed, he looked at me and said, “Hey…it’s Friday!” Obviously my face didn’t seem very TGIF to him and he wanted to remind me that, hey, things could be worse.

So today he had the spark, which is ok.

Mine’ll be back. It’s easier to believe it when I see evidence that it’s still out there, somewhere.