Dear, dear Mercury Retrograde....
Yesterday, I laughingly texted a friend, "As frustrating as Mercury Retrograde can be, I'm almost going to miss it when it leaves tomorrow. 'Cause ironically, I get so much good writing done when it's here. And now, I'll have to keep pouring out the words without its push. Hahaha!"
Well, it turns out that the, "Hahaha!" was on me. Because, you know how we have to be careful what we wish for? Well, it's obviously true.
I realized that today when an innocent looking grocery cart suddenly turned on me and grabbed my index finger in between the plastic and the metal, in a vice-like grip. My first thought was of how I used to joke that I wanted to insure my hands with Lloyd's of London. And my second thought was, "Oh, my G-d! I'm a writer, and this is my right hand, and I have some things that I have to finish today...."
Anyway—the cart must've really loved me because it refused to let me go! (And it wasn't like I could run for help with a huge cart clanging and banging down the aisle behind me.) So I did what any woman who was basically strong, basically self-sufficient, and had extremely good manners would do. My eyes found the two tallest men in the fruits and vegetables aisle—and my voice called, "Can you help me? Please??"
Thank you, thank you to the two sweet men who were finally able to pry the cart away from my finger. And to the darling woman who was running for help 'til she saw that I'd, "been released".
So dear Mercury Retrograde. At first, the cynic in me wondered if you just wanted to make a grand exit at the end of this run. But then I realized—I think you were telling me, "Joanie, I'm still here for a few more hours. Go home, and write. I'll push you."
So thank you, thank you to you, as well. For surrounding me with wonderful people who helped make certain that my hand would be fine. And for giving me that push to shake even more writing out of my pen. That push that's like a huge, vibrant gust of wind in my sail.
This one's for you.
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Have you ever felt like you could be the Poster Girl, or Guy, for Mercury Retrograde? If so, you'll know how my day feels. And you'll understand when I say, "@!!#@?!#%#??!!!" LOL
Truth be known, I'm really not joking. But just receiving all of this would be too easy, right? So I'm going to have to free myself. And since I have to work to do it? I'm going to do so from an artistic point of view.
Which is why I've decided to become—ta-da!—an Architect of White Light! Is there such a category? If there wasn't before, there is now. Because my imagination just ran away with my pen. And do you know what they built? A Sanctuary to White Light. A tunnel where the purest of rock crystal encrusts walls that arch from floor to ceiling and down again—and whose White Light rivals the light of the sun.
Someday I'll take you there with me. But right now, I need to go inside to lose myself, to find myself, and to come out the other side.
Have you ever wanted to climb into a Black Hole, and pull it in over yourself? So you could scream, "GO AWAY!!" like a three-year-old child, if anyone tried to talk you out of it? Or maybe just pretend you didn't hear, like they were vacuum cleaner salesmen ringing your doorbell? I've wanted to.
The advantages to taking a vacation like that are: 1) we can always get a ticket, even on a moment's notice and, 2) we can rationalize our bad behavior and the bottomless quantities of Ben & Jerry's ice cream that we consume...or hide behind an endless fog from cigarettes, or alcohol, that feels as tragically romantic as a movie star in an old Hollywood film. Also, if anyone criticizes, or tries to help us? We can blame our mood on anything from a less than perfect childhood...to work...to the angry driver in front of us.
If this all seems too good to be true, it's because it is. After all, a trip to the Black Hole is really costly. Because even Monopoly doesn't have, "Get Out of Black Hole Free" cards—so we have to spend time and energy digging our way back out. And because if we wanted to order sushi, or pizza, the restaurants might tell us, "Sorry, but we don't deliver to the corner of Sunset Blvd. and Black Hole."
So, after weighing my options, I've decided to go out for fries and a latte—hold the Black Hole. Want to come with me?
A friend of mine, who is a brilliant musician, emailed that he's having the happiest New Year ever, and hoped that mine is as well.
I wrote back, "Yay! This year really is tuning [sic] into a fantastic one!"
How lucky I am to have an angel with a sense of humor, who helps me edit my writing.
If you could only wear one outfit for the rest of your life, what would it be? Mine would be blue jeans, a black turtleneck, my green cowboy boots—and always, always accessories.
And if you could live on one food? For me, bread would win, hands down.
I forgot it was predicted that the world will end tomorrow—so I've been writing all night. Which is ironic because if I believed that—I would have been writing anyway.