I don't want to exaggerate, but my Wonderland column from last Friday is saving lives. Right now, as I write this. Which I think makes me some kind of savior. Scratch "some kind." Why equivocate?
Anyway, if it's not saving your life, it's because you're not reading it, and let me tell you, you should. If only because it hurt my head to write. I had to read, and then I had to think about what I had read, and then I had to string words together in orders that were both pleasing and meaningful. My life could not be more difficult.
Speaking of difficult, this morning did not go well. There was muttering and things being slammed and meaningful sighing, and then Henry freaked out about his new coat. Of course. It's not like he's immune to his surroundings. So, the coat. Its newness was unbearable. How could we even suggest that he couldn't wear his old coat, even though its sleeves end at his elbows? Even though we used our charms to get the coat on him and convince him that he would live, he was still ornery all the way to school. During the Coat Battle he had pitched his voice waaa-haaaay up high, above even where dogs can hear, to a pitch that I think would kill bats—just cause them to seize up in mid-flight and plummet to the earth. Then apparently he couldn't get it back down to a normal pitch, or maybe he just hates bats. As we walked to school everything he said sounded like air being let out of a balloon, so to cheer him up I suggested that we play secret agents on the way to school. This involves running from tree to tree, shooting lasers at squirrels and hiding from oncoming cars. I should have known that is the WORST GAME EVER, even though we play it every day on the way to school even when it's the last thing I want to do. HOW COULD I EVEN SUGGEST IT. He actually demanded to know why I would suggest such a thing. And then when I began to explain that I SUGGESTED IT TO TORMENT HIM, he squeaked, "You're interrupting me!" and before I could respond to that he added, "Why won't you answer me! "
Then I started in, I don't even know what I said or why I said it. Some nonsense about how his behavior was not acceptable and I don't need to be screamed at for trying to suggest something fun even though it's not fun for me, I would rather be at home reading a book (and then I was just talking to myself, because none of this was for his benefit, and anyway he was busy squealing EEEEE, EEEEE, INTERRUPTING, EEEE, not hearing a word that I said, which is probably for the best) and why did I bother trying to make everyone around me happy and maybe they should be the ones who try to make me happy for once and I'm so tired of everyone yelling and the constant ceaseless rage and oh my god Alice shut up—
Then Henry said, "You know what letter I like?" in a perfectly normal voice. And I had the good sense, at least, to abort my harangue, and find out.
He likes H, by the way. Which is so clearly the best letter in the alphabet.
I think I need a nap. Or a new and better life. One or the other.