For therapy, interpreting inkblots doesn’t do it for me. So I turned the heat up, put the top down, set the music to blaring and drove under stormy skies, interpreting the ominous clouds overhead, told stories with their shapes.
Looked over the last few posts – tired of mopy whining.
Moods are weather patterns. You can’t control them – no tempest in a teapot set to whistle at your convenience. But the will, the will is your choice, the choice to catch pneumonia in the chill – or slap on goulashes, giggle, and play in the puddles. To laughing in the blue – to smiling at darkening skies…
I kinda like mopey people…so, don’t worry if you don’t cheer up…cheery people scare me. 🙂
None to worry. It’s not cheering up so much as better navigating the mopey moods.
even that might be a little too much. one shouldn’t navigate their moods, just let them roam wherever they need to…hopefully destroying anyone they come across…
Ah the ambiguity of language. Not “navigate the moods”….”navigate the moods.” As in navigating through them.
drat! oh well. keep the sullenness up… i know i plan to. well, that and the craziness…and possibly anaccountable anger towards many many people. oh well.
Ahh the cold weather convertible…
Ahhh, the joys of a convertible on the not quite winter, not quite spring days. I remember those joys of driving with the top down despite the weather. It does wonders for clearing your head, doesn’t it.
Of course… I did all that back when I had hair………