Astromancy Blaming

So far this week has been a series of emotional and intellectual mind melts. Manifestations include obsessing over paint shades for the living room, as if I possess the wherewithal to paint the living room. Also hopscotching between three books, including a 30 (out of 90) hour audible reading of Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa Harlow: Or the History of a Young Lady because it’s supposed to be one of the foundational European novels and a sore spot for a former English major who never made it pass page 632. And the sliding pile of magazines that go back to October, in addition to the “why not” vivid blue streak mingled with an equally vivid red streak through my straggly Covid-long hair. Gastronomically, I’ll list the lambs head adventure a few weeks back, over-reliance on lackluster pasta dishes and Monday’s chocolate cake, now 2/3rds devoured, served for breakfast, followed by mid-morning, lunch, afternoon, cocktail and pre-bedtime snack.

That good-for-me acorn squash has been sitting on the counter since January 29.

All of these befuddlements, I was told by a friend yesterday, is because Mercury is in Retrograde. Neither of us hold any belief in this but it provides an explanation for why we and just about everyone else we’ve spoken/texted/Zoomed with since January 30 has complained about their own disjoined lives and hit the wall hard. More evidence: The bizarre weather cascading across the country and madding to-dos continuing to cascade through our unhinged world. Mercury gets the hell out of retrograde on Sunday, the 21st. That’s four days from now, followed three weeks later by the vernal equinox ushering in spring.

Until then, the only sane thing to do is succumbing to Mercury’s rule and not feel guilty about staring at paint chips, reading three books, listening to Clarissa, disappearing into five months of magazines. Nor caring about the state of my hair. I’ll try–but won’t expect–to make pasta better and the cake will extend my belly even further.

Planetary breakdowns are sometimes warranted.

Postscript: One of the sons who is hitting a very hard wall just told me that when people blame Mercury he wants to tell them to fuck off. Even a mom can’t really help at times.

Banner illustration credit: Amino