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I'm Major Jackson and this is the Rams. That's what we called it in my youth when someone

was angry for no reason and seemed to want to butt heads with

everyone. On this particular morning I was salty. We ran out of coffee, which meant I had to make a quick run to the grocery

store, which meant I had to spend 30 minutes or more in traffic, which meant my day would start later than desired.

I had essays to grade and meetings with colleagues and with Micah, my lovely producer, but none of that happens without caffeine.

I grabbed my keys and slammed the door.

For some reason, every time I start my car, it plays a foggy day in Londontown, sung by Leslie

Hutchison, a 1920 singer I discovered by going down a rabbit hole. Every trip feels like Groundhog Day,

the movie, which on this day really annoyed me. I changed from Bluetooth to the radio. The morning commute

DJ's with their high octane laughter annoyed me. The grocery store ran out of

my favorite brand. That annoyed me. The store clerk peered on the shelf, reached his arm in the deep back and pulled out a bag. He charidly handed it to me. His joy was annoying, slightly toxic.

At home, D.D. noticed and said, woke up on the wrong side of the bed. And I said, I hate that

phrase. Then I apologized. This isn't me, I said. She said, go ahead. Live in your feelings.

If you know me, I keep a container on any emotions close to rage. I am allergic to

bad temperaments and others, so control it in myself. But recently I've measured how the state of the world

and its conflicts were affecting me. One of the great paradoxes in life is the presence of human suffering on the planet amidst prosperity.

No religion can explain this other than point to some large cosmic plan.

Sometimes it's tough bearing witness

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