Headstands at 2 a.m.

They say "turn that frown upside-down." I tried it in the middle of the night, wide awake with little pink marbles whirling. Didn't work, couldn't do it. So instead, I just turned all of me upside down. Indeed, with blood rushing from my toes my heart to my brain, I couldn't help but smile.

Then I realized: when upside-down, isn't a smile a frown?

Baffled by that, I thought of thunder fog. Yesterday evening, I made it home just in time to turn on the radio and hear the weather report -- "thunder fog" in the KPR listening area. ? Apparently, sometimes light, gentle mist at ground level belies more dramatic electricity in the upper atmosphere. If I could be a weather phenomenon, I'd be thunder fog.

That thought made me smile more, though, which technically would be frowning more. So I changed my focus to wet moths. When I opened the door to the Union yesterday afternoon, intent on slipping in out of the rain, I saw a moth fluttering against the glass -- trying to find its way in too. Then it stopped fluttering, just resigned itself to a corner, where it could see warmth and dryness and people people people bustling around, umbrellas folded under their arms and wet shoes squeaking on the shiny floor.

That thought made me forget to smile, but it also made me forget to concentrate on my balance. By the time I'd recovered from toppling over and sat upright, I again had a frown that needed turning upside-down. What can you do? Go to sleep and dream of wet moths in thunder fog.