Not So Super.

I went out and looked at the super moon earlier. I wasn’t impressed, sad to say, because I didn’t see anything particularly super about it. It was certainly splendid because full moons always are, but super? Had it been rising and falling like a yo-yo, or spinning like a Catherine wheel, or turning into a purple elephant and back again, I would have conceded the adjective ‘super’ with some enthusiasm. In reality, it was just a full moon. It reminded me of those total eclipses of the sun which are supposed to plunge the world into darkness, only they don’t.

Or maybe I’m just jaded because I had to be up early and was then subjected to a busy day. I’m not at all accustomed to busy days and I dislike them. They ruffle the reclusive feathers and disturb the energy of musefulness. And then there was the hospital appointment that didn’t go quite as anticipated. ‘It wouldn’t be our first choice,’ said the expert. Right.

And that man Trump kept getting in the way of my attempts to restore equilibrium. He kept turning up, making me fearful for the good Americans I know and even more fearful for the fate of the world if his intellectually-challenged and inarticulate redneck tendency is allowed full rein. I kept being reminded of how his twin soul mates, Hitler (I will make Germany great) and Mussolini (I will make Italy great), plunged the world into fiery hell and brought their countries to their knees before coming to ignominious and premature ends in the vicinity of bunkers and lamp posts. Maybe Trump, too, believes that living one day as a lion is better than a hundred years as a sheep. Well, let’s just hope it isn’t too much longer than one day.

And I keep writing strange but meaningful emails to people at around 2 o’clock in the morning, but they never reply.