Yesterday was an interesting day. The energy in my work space was charged with an unknown element and the entire day felt like I was living in an alternate universe. People were doing inane things, the simplest conversation turned into a painful thirty minute ordeal and the tension could have been cut by nothing less than a chainsaw. My rhetorical question was to ask, “is it a full moon?” and the response was an embellished “yes”.
Although there is no direct correlation between the phases of the moon and human behavior, the full moon gives human beings a fantastic excuse for acting like idiots. The blame is put solely on the celestial orb, taking the onus from the one acting completely out of character but, when the sky is dark, strange behavior is accepted as exactly that with no other plausible justification.
Many of our references to luck, or the lack thereof, are written in the stars. We wish on a falling star. Our horoscopes are creatively tied to constellations in the sky. And we blame a magical orb of light for any unfavorable happenings during the phase in which it finds its truest beauty.
On those days that society deems the moon to be the cause of all of its woes, the child who still resides in my mind hopes that the fantasy man who inhabits that enchanting sphere is truly giving us the full moon.
Oh, how I hate the weirdness that accompanies a full moon. The world becomes rife with howling weremorons.