Eunice says, "Life isn't worth living."
Eunice says, "Every day is a gift."
Eunice says, "To live is to suffer."
Eunice says, "There is joy and beauty in everything."
In short, Eunice doesn't have a clue. She shifts like sand dunes in a high wind. Her moods are as firm and long-lasting as an ice cube in a sauna. Up and down, left and right. Follow Eunice as she tries to make sense out of—out of life? Forget it! Out of HER life" Not a chance! Out of the way the world is going? All she can do is rant.
Rant, Eunice. No one is listening anyway. Rant away. Rant, don't rant. The world will be the same. Save yourself the energy.
Withdraw. Read. Don't go out. OUT is where decisions have to be made. OUT is where you will have to decide what is right and what is wrong. OUT is where economic necessity meets social injustice. OUT is where us and them are always separate. OUT is where the twain shall never meet.
So that leaves Eunice up a creek without a paddle. She could walk home, I suppose, through the cold rocky creek. She'd ruin her shoes. Could she do it barefoot? Not bloomin' likely. Hurt her feet, she would, and not be able to go more than 20 yards before she'd give up. Poor Eunice.
Is there anything up this creek that will please her? Look around, Eunice. The leaves have tinged those black branches with the palest yellow-green mist. That's what happens this time of year, and Eunice does like that.
What else? Off in the woods she hears a cardinal doing his territorial call: this is MINE and only mine and don't come near, you other males, or I'll peck your eyes out. It sounds more friendly than that when Eunice filters it through her human ears, but she knows what he's really saying. She might as well be reading the headlines.
Okay, forget the cardinal. Look at the ground, Eunice. See the trilliums beneath the trees? See the may-apples, the patch of violets? Does that make you feel better?
Eunice, notice that the air is warm. Certainly warmer than the water in this creek you're up. So feel it. Stay away from the cold water where you're stuck without a paddle. Just notice on your skin the slightest hint of a soft breeze. Notice that you can take off the multiple layers you've been wearing during the long winter. Notice that the sun is dappling through the canopy, spotlighting this corner and that flower and this outcropping of stone and that blanket of bright green moss.
So what about it, Eunice? Yea or nay? Ah, well. I'll let you off the hook. Don't make a decision if you don't want to. And even if you do, you can always change it tomorrow, if your mood changes. And since you wrote the book on moods, Eunice, you certainly know that the one sure thing about moods is this: they always change.