So Mercury retrograde has one more week to wreak it’s twisted sense of fun on my head. Though I try to find the good in a mercury retrograde, we can go on record that it will never be my favorite part of the planetary dance for sure.
It doesn’t help that we are nearing the end of a season that is rife with haunting, wistful, unnameable emotions. The end of summer is a kind of death, I feel.
Weird thing is I used to hate summer and be positively rapturous about the pleasures of autumn— hmm, perhaps that was when I was so much more intrigued by death than life, I am thinking . . . I mean, seriously– who but an overly dramatic adolescent would name November as their favorite season, right? (All I can say in my defense is that I never went Goth).
Now? I hang onto summer like a desperate child, clinging, screaming as it tries to walk out the door . . nooooooo, don’t leave me.
God, I love summer.
I am also in the midst of wending my way through the inevitable tasks required of any move that I have been avoiding because oh my god how I hate the granularity of such things as: dog licensing, car registration, new insurance policies, driver’s license, find a vet, find a groomer, find a dentist, blah blah blah– but it must be done and why not do it when everything already feels grinding, right?
Yesterday we were at the beach and it felt so good.
So, if I get everything done that I have laid out for myself here to get done today– we are headed to the beach this afternoon— it’s the only way I can get through to the other side of this boring pile of paperwork.
Yes, I am a donkey– have carrot, will travel.