She was feeling "off," mentally and physically. Her day just felt skewed, like she was approaching it from the wrong angle and thus more likely to bump into things. We were emailing back and forth about one of the things about my job I don't talk about outside of the job (making it seem far, far more mysterious than it actually is) and I asked how she was doing. She told me, then added "Aren't you glad you asked?!" She added an emoticon, so she wasn't too far gone into the bad day. Trying to put a brave face on it.
So I started replying with "Weird Al" lyrics. Lyrics from "Bob," for those of you scoring at home. And they made her reply with "LOL," which probably didn't mean that she'd actually laughed out loud but showed the humor was reaching her. This is good.
I heard a few years ago that while Steven Spielberg was doing the emotionally draining job of directing Schindler's List thousands of miles away from his family, dealing dramatically with one of the absolute worst things humans have ever done to other humans, and often doing so right outside of Auschwitz (the production recreated a portion of Auschwitz along a wall of the real Auschwitz), to keep his equilibrium he'd call his friend Robin Williams. Williams knew exactly how to get his friend to laugh, really laugh, tears-streaming-down-his-face laugh. Good skill. Worth emulating. (Williams did so again when another friend of his, Christopher Reeve, was in the hospital after his paralyzing accident. Williams arranged to show up in Reeve's room, without Reeve's prior knowledge, wearing doctor's scrubs and a face mask, and spoke in a thick Russian accent about the procedures Reeve would need to go through. And doing it in a way that made Reeve laugh, really laugh, tears-streaming-down-his-face laugh.)
I ain't in that league. But hey, I made someone smile who needed to smile. Chris? Do that more.