Don't stare if you see me on my hands and knees out on the newly-greened-up lawn of Small College today. Try not to point if you notice I'm plucking blades of sour grass and popping them in my mouth: I need a spring tonic.
Oh, I know. We aren't living in the olden days, when pioneers would eagerly chow down on the tender greens of spring to replenish their vitamin stores that had been depleted by a winter of eating low-in-vitamins root vegetables. Thanks to modern transportation, I get "spring" greens year around, handily boxed in transparent containers at the grocery store.
But what else could account for my general malaise these day? I'm grumpy and mopey and sleepy and most of the Seven Dwarfs, assuming that Doc has changed his name to "Irrationally Picky."
Take, for example, my reaction to yesterday's words of wisdom in my desk flipbook. A dear friend gave me this flipbook because she knows I love the Psalms. The book has an atta-girl saying or appropriate verse for each day, kind of like Oprah's Quote of the Day except, you know, the divinely inspired Word of God. So when I flipped over to yesterday's quote (one of my absolute favorites), what did I see? Not so much reassurance that I am sheep of His pasture as the extra space before the semicolon on the second line.
I'm trying to buck-it-up out of this attitude, trying to ignore the little voice inside me that is saying, "Yeah, that looks like a mistake you would make. You're missing those extra spaces these days." I know better than this. I am sheep of His pasture!
Some days, though. Some days it's hard to remember my sheepiness.
Please pass another helping of sour grass.