Mood Barometer

I never did join that real estate company where they suggesting that one “check in with your mood!” (said enthusiastically with glee and probably eleventeen exclamation points, probably in bold italics)

I do have a mood barometer though – a mental token that I bring to the forefront of my consciousness in order to figure out how I am doing. It informs subsequent decisions about how I do things. And if that last paragraph made no sense to you, don’t worry. I’m still figuring it out myself.

What I mean is that right now I have something in my garage – a vintage London black cab. If I think about it, I feel either overwhelming joy if I’m in a good mood – well fed, rested, self-disciplined, planning on taking over the world with McYoga. I see myself gadding about picking up friends’ children for fun-packed rides to the park.

Then sometimes when I picture my taxi, I feel like it’s a hideous monster that is going to be the ruin of my marriage, the scourge of the neighborhood, and rain pestilence on my first born.

The latter mood sends me scurrying to chug some cola, the former sends me outside to take a moment to water my fruit trees.

So today, after what passes for a poor night’s sleep, I crawled under my cab with a video camera and managed to locate the clutch – see, how hard can it be? And instantly I’m suddenly filled with the complexity and dread of having to undo a myriad of hoses, wires and rusted bolts to remove the engine.

So given the mood mercury in my lead barometer is apparently shriveling like a Frenchman’s undercarriage in an igloo, I’m going to slap my mind about with a big orange Tango hand and do the opposite of what it expects me to. I’m going to water my fruit trees, chug coke and go to McYoga while asking a taxi man for some help.