How very vernal.

Even the magnolias couldn't coax the grump and grind from my head today. Even the new silver paint on my toes left me indifferent. Sean came home from a few days away complaining of the same kind of sourness. I've never been so impervious to the powers of spring. Luckily, it feels like an ugly but temporary spell.

Last night's Frontline report on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in Iraq vets left me sunk in that kind of vague weariness that comes with watching a lot of televised war. In the civil war they called this kind of trauma "Nostalgia" and then, of course, there was "battle fatigue." Such sweet words. As if the soldier was simply falling asleep on the chaise in a dreamy haze.