You deserve a more tender tomorrow, the Universe said.

“I do,” myself replied.  I went on to say, “Life has been hard and a bit dreary these past few months.  Tender would be good.  Did you have something in mind?”

The Universe said, “No.  Quite the opposite.  Tomorrow the weather is going to reenact the Wizard of Oz and then I might dump snow on you.  Haven’t decided yet.”

“If you must bring snow, please bring between 12 and 20 inches.  Please.  Anything less is just a nuisance as folks expect me to maintain my normal activities if we are anything short of shut down.”

“Nah, I’m thinking an inch or two.  Just enough to snarl morning traffic on Wednesday.”

“Why are you in such a cantankerous mood?  This really has gone on too long you know. Since about August you have just been downright ugly to me.  Fortunately, I have a good support system and I’m not in a fetal position, but this is really getting old. 

“Can’t help it, chickee.  We universes too have Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Ever since the days started getting shorter I’ve been cranky.

“Have you thought of some psychotropic drugs like Prozac or Wellbutrin?  There’s no need to be miserable six months out of the year.”

“Hah!  Good one little sister.  How would you propose I ingest it.  It’s not like I have a mouth or a body or a brain.  I’m just circulating energy – atoms bouncing around and around and around playing with electrons. 

“You are so literal some days.  Can’t you just find a tiny bit of room for benevolence?  Whimsical?  Tender?  Maybe just kind?  It really has been tiresome, you know.”

“It’s always tiresome, solar rotation after solar rotation, I get like this.  Along about second week of January, the weather gets wicked, I get cranky and blow in some subzero cold.  Did I mention that’s on its way too.  You might want to dig out that down parka you bought two years ago and haven’t worn yet.”

“So, tell me, Universe, what’s your take on this global warming stuff?”

“Your planet will survive, but you humans?  No guarantee.  Y’all are slow learners and I’m out of patience.  I may let y’all just drown in the rising seas from the melting of the polar ice caps.  Or I may just let you fry in insufferable heat.  Your man-made hell, if you will.”

“So, why did you start this conversation out with I need a more tender tomorrow?  If you’re just going to be cantankerous?”

“You do deserve a more tender tomorrow.  However, except in the case of global warming, I can’t provide all of you with what you deserve.  Can you imagine the chaos of my even trying?  A plague on this block, rainbows and unicorns on that block.  This city under siege; that one exulting in freedom.  You see the problem, yes?”

“Well, actually, that’s kind of how it seems right now.  Some people suffer relentlessly, and others are rewarded for no particular reason.  It’s all so random which is not like you, you know.  You are a well-organized miracle of matter and energy and sentience.  How is it that we puny humans have been able to subvert your immaculate design?”

“My design is not immaculate.  It was quite messy getting here.  Dark holes, big bang, primordial soup, etc. etc.  My hands were dirty for eons.  But I might remind you, I gave you free will and the right to determine your own path.  You can provide your own self with a more tender tomorrow.  What’s stopping you.”

“Well circumstances are hardly conducive. . . “

“Oh, child, just stop.  Excuses excuses.  If you want a more tender tomorrow, then plan one.  Work to make it happen.  Quit worrying about me and propel your own self forward.  Sing Onward Chrisitan Soldiers if you must.  It’s a fine get down to work song.  You are at war.  With me.  With your environment.  With your past.  Your future.  Your family and your friends.  Get over your own self.  You take the Prozac.  You take the Wellbutrin.  You deserve a more tender tomorrow.  Make a plan. Make it so.