The moon is not quite fat & there are spiders in the garage, hanging from the ceiling like squirmy little pendulums. M is catching them on slips of paper and setting them free. The days are rainy & dim, which seems to bring them out of hiding. Everything in the yard looks green & swollen.
Mercury is in retrograde. I lost something important & must replace it. A vital document that proves I exist. I'm fairly sure I exist, but this must be documented & stamped in order to be proven. I have too many books & not enough shelves. My house is messy. My horoscope is sending me mixed messages & I find this problematic. It tells me to expect good news. It tells me to be wary of good news. I cleaned out three junk drawers & found my high school transcript, a CD of Native American flute music, about a dozen of Z's baby teeth, a receipt from a sandwich shop dated October 23rd 2001, a pair of jade earrings that I haven't seen in about 5 years, McDonald's gift certificates (the kind that look like a coupon book, which they don't even make anymore) lots of nickels & paperclips & buttons, a big glob of candle wax. I need to clean out my drawers more often. I also found 3 dollars tucked in to an old day planner from 2004. Yep.
My hair is getting out of control again. Sometimes, I think I ought to just give in and let it grow unchecked like a swath of wild lilacs but I don't want the bees to nest in it. I admire their work but still they terrify me. I think it's all the humming. Humming is creepy. Only bees & serial killers hum. This usually happens right before they attack.
I cannot decide if I feel like making a big pot of soup today or if I want to make pasta with garlic & roasted cauliflower. Both of these things sound really, really good. A pan of foccacia would be nice, too. Maybe topped with carmelized onions and tiny slices of red potato? Yummy. I have fancy things like rye flour & semolina in the fridge. I should bake something.
I started training at a new job yesterday. This is very good news & I am choosing not to be wary of it no matter what my horoscope says. Dear Mercury, Saturn & Uranus: Please be kind to me.
Susan Slaviero lives on the cusp of a hellmouth, where she vanquishes evil with poetry and cupcakes. She hopes to someday land a job as either a dog whisperer or a telephone psychic. In the meantime, she writes. She has a fondness for esoterica.