A Sliding Scale

I wake up and my mind's a blank. "I need coffee" is the extent of its thinking. I get some; that's an immediate upper. Then it begins--the daily assault. Facts enter, each doing its part in building a mood. Cat throw-up on the living room floor. Not pleasant, but in hindsight no big deal; on a scale of 1 to 10--1 being good --I give it a 4. Go outside to get the paper, and it's there for the first time in days--that's a 2. (It would be a 1 except for those days it was missing.) The newspaper is full of bad news. That gang-rape victim in Delhi died from her injuries; a solid 10. She was only 23, with everything ahead. That was how her life ended. I swear off Indian food. The fiscal cliff is still around--a 5, because I barely care and think it means nothing. Let's just go over it already. On Facebook I read that my son's coat was stolen last night while he was in a restaurant. He must have been really cold getting home. I'll give it a 6 or 7, because if the rape victim was a 10, how could it be any more, but really, personally, thinking of him being cold and now coatless, it's a 10. Anyway, that's Washington for you, I recall, happy I now live in Maine, a definite 2.

It goes on like this, all day. How do I really feel is lost among the factoids bouncing around inside my brain. And I'm married, so my husband's moods are mixed in there, and I can't control those at all; that's a 6. At least I have a brain; that's a 0. And a husband. That's a sliding scale.