At the far end of my anger resides a tiny, comforting voice which keeps me from jumping off the cliff or over the shark. It says only one thing: This is silly.
This is silly, or "Tis," has become my mantra. There's something appropriate about it, especially the contraction "Tis," itself an antiquated contraction of "it is." It helps me identify and define what's happening and seems to apply to every situation in my life, from committee meetings to my own egotistical adventures. The voice whispers "Tis" and it puts everything into a livable order. Sometimes it escapes my lips and I sound like an art critic dismissing a new piece with a wave of his hand, "oh this...Tis."
Perhaps it's the Universe communicating reality directly to me, or, more likely, it's my haywired brain trying to make sense of the senseless. Either way, it is the curmudgeon's call which both solves and soothes whatever confronts me. At those moments when I really want to scream, the voice whispers "Tis" and I get that inexplicable yet knowing half-smile which means I know something you don't.
And then, moments later, it comforts me when I realize it's the other way around.
