Crossed Wires

September 29th, 2010

Every time I mention something that’s gone wrong in my work or personal life, the person I’m talking to invariably nods sagely and says knowingly, “Mercury Retrograde.” It happens so often that I’m convinced our planet has veered too far into Mercury Retrograde and can’t get out. I’m afraid we’re permanently stuck in an orbit of dead end signs, pissed-off voters, midlife crises, rebellious kids, pay cuts, paper cuts, bad tattoos, computer viruses, perfume strips, telemarketing calls, thong panties, dystopian novels, receding hairlines, bedbugs, bandaids that won’t stick, adult-proof caps on prescription bottles, insomnia and Farmville games. I wish the planet would pull itself together and give me some love instead of mean looks and missed connections. I’d like to be able to complain about too many men in my life, and have someone nod sagely and say knowingly, “Venus Prograde.” I could live with that.

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