Ah, That Explains It

“Is Mercury retrograde or something?” I asked myself as I searched for band aids for my scrapes, spread cortisone cream on an unidentifiable rash, and headed to the drugstore to buy a knee brace.

About three days later, I found out that Mercury has been retrograde since July 17, and will be until August 11.

Look, I’m no big astrology believer, but I do think there’s something to be said for the effect of the different times of year that happen to coincide with particular positions of planets or stars from Earth’s perspective. It has always irritated me that astrology skeptics perpetually seem to base their objections on the infinitesimal gravitational pull of distant stars upon the Earth.

Since when did any astrologist claim gravity had anything to do with it? It’s about what the position of stars and planets say about the seasons and eras and epochs in which we live. That’s what I think, anyway.

During this most recent time that Mercury has been retrograde,

• I spread a tarp on the deck to protect the inflatable pool I was setting up for Angelic Daughter from splinters, warned Angelic daughter not to trip over it, predicted that I probably would be the one who tripped over it, and then tripped over it while carrying two dinner plates loaded with my version of a kind of chicken parmesan, which splattered all over the deck, breaking one plate and causing severe scrapes on my left knee and elbow; and
• the inflatable pool developed a hole on the seam between inflatable sections, causing the water to bubble and fill the lowest inflatable section of the pool; and
• The pool patch I used to stop the air leak failed, so I had to break down and order another pool; and
• While I was inflating the second pool, I scraped my finger on the deck and got a splinter so deep under my fingernail that I’ll just have to hope it dissolves on its own; and
• the second pool also developed a leak along the seam between inflatable sections, and the miracle patch tape I used on that leak also failed, causing me to order yet another pool (the last, I promise, even if it bursts); and
• during an absurdly easy “step to the beat” workout, I dutifully tapped front and front and back and back and side (oh! what was that?) and side and side and (AAUGHJHH! AUGHGHGHGH! HOLY SHIT THAT HUUUUURRRTS!) and my right knee declared itself incapable of doing its duty absent excruciating pain; and
• the knee doc said it was arthritis, left the choice of steroid injection, MRI, or physical therapy to me; and
• I chose therapy (hey, it worked on the left knee three years ago) before I found out that I wouldn’t be able to get in to see a therapist until August 20; and
• the “knee stabilizer” I bought at the drugstore allows me to walk without excruciating pain, but squeezes and digs into my leg painfully; and
• I burned myself on my new allegedly PFAS-free air fryer after getting rid of my old air fryer when its non-stick PFAS coating started disappearing after only about 6 months; and
• I called the dryer vent lady to come and clean out my dryer vent because the dryer wasn’t drying very well only to discover that the vent was so completely blocked that it had broken the dryer and the vent couldn’t be cleaned out, and that I was about 5 seconds away from burning my house down, and that the dope who installed the dryer (oh, thanks, Mr. Bulgarian, I am SO OVER YOU) used flexible foil piping for the vent which you’re never supposed to do; and
• discovered there is such a thing as a ventless dryer; and
• discovered that it would cost more than a new conventional dryer just to install the right kind of outlet for a ventless electric dryer; and
• decided to go old school and use a clothesline outside and a drying rack inside in the basement with the dehumidifier going; and
• discovered the dehumidifier needed emptying about three times more often with the new drying rack in the main room of the basement instead of clothes on the rod in the rear of the laundry room with the door closed, which means going up and down stairs with a bad knee three times more often; and
• watched my grass (who am I kidding my creeping charlie) grow longer than acceptable and since I’m not willing to pay someone to mow it contemplating doing it over several days, for as long as I can until my knee gives out; and
• burst into tears when I finished my seventh “circumnavigation” of my favorite novels, the Patrick O’Brian Aubrey/Maturin series, all 20 of them; and
• spent an inordinate amount of time worrying about how behind I’m getting on my “budget plan” electric bill, and when I’ll be billed for the difference between what I’ve paid and what I owe; and
• became disturbingly resigned to what is certain to be a heart-stopping water bill after filling, emptying, and refilling the inflatable pool day after day; and
• checked the forecast and discovered 90 degrees predicted for Saturday, to be endured in my un-airconditioned house, until a retreat to my air-conditioned bedroom can be rationalized.

God, I hate summer.

Looking forward to Mercury’s orbit ceasing to appear backward, I remain,

your sweaty, grumpy, limping, irritable, overgrown-creeping-charlie lady,

Ridiculouswoman