Morale is Low

I Will Now Respond to Sickness by Becoming Self-Indulgently Grumpy

Morale is low. It’s a nice phrase. The idea of “morale” emphasizes that maybe it’s just your attitude, not your situation, that stinks. “Morale” treats attitude like a civic responsibility. Uncle Sam points a finger. How are YOU contributing to morale?

My contributions to morale undermine unit readiness. Letting Gio sleep in so she doesn’t get the ‘rona can throw off our schedule. Reading my book instead of staring at maps and timetables tightens the screws on our future. And vice versa. The more time I spend consolidating logistics, the more my stress level rises. White blood cells self-destruct in a fit of rage every time I look at one of those middleman apps that Hoovers up hotel bookings and raises their prices like dwindling airline seats. I can feel coronavirus chew deeper into my lungs every time I open my phone.

Giovanna, on the other hand, is all morale. We had to stop for sheep in a one lane road, with traffic piling up behind us and an oncoming car waiting, and she about had a cuteness induced seizure. The lambs started skipping. I threw the mother goat such a dirty stink-eye that she stopped, locked eyes with me, and bleated.

I said, “Honey, you have to at least honk at the sheep so the other drivers know you’re trying.”

She said, “Ohhh, they are racing! Can you take a peekture?”

All her vowels are staccato until the long ones linger. Morale improves.

She swats annoyance away like it’s a mosquito. She’s determined to enjoy every last second of this trip and can’t understand why I’d spend so much of it reversing my “against” stance on the coronavirus.  People were a mistake: there are too many of us, put away your masks and vaccines.

Three decades and change and I emerge as a crusty old man. I have opinions on things I have no right to criticize. Drones? Hate ‘em. Motor homes? Against. Engineers? Intellectual cowards and terrorists in training who should never be entrusted with anything more complex than a math problem.

I had a very specific list of violences I wished upon the Brit who decided to shift gears with the left hand, until I learned that they drive on the left because knights wanted to wave swords at each other on the right, a reason bad-ass enough to excuse the fact that it will probably kill me.

Giovanna is waking up. Morale improves.