Life of Wry

Picture taken this early morning, through the windshield (pardon the flecks), driving east on I-80.  On our way to a baseball tournament, natch.

Picture is notable because that’s a massive fog bank hovering over the Sacramento River.  Those are clouds above that, obscuring our view of the Sierra.

A bit odd for July, to say the least.

Anyway.

I’m in a funk because someone I adore (I can’t mention names) had a really, really (REALLY) bad day.  It’s not like he’s easy to adore right now either, because he’s in a world-class foul mood and is about as prickly as they come.  But it’s understandable; he’s in 13-year-old pain, which is to say completely out of touch with his emotions and actions and kind of running (no, sprinting) amok.  Yes, he’s sprinting amok.  Sulky, hyper, rude, needy, taciturn, defeated, cocky.  Acting weird.  I see he’s not dealing too well, so it’s easy to cut him a little slack.  Of course all my adult sensibilities tell me it’s all going to be fine, and in fact it’s an essential part of the experience… to fail and to come back.  How one comes back says a lot about one’s maturity and character; days like this provide perspective, critical to future successes.  I totally know all that, even if he doesn’t.  It’s easy for me to not get all worked up, but not so easy to not feel his hurt.  (I’m feeling so funky, I’m not even going to correct all those double negatives.  So there.)