The astrology app on my iGoogle home page is so weirdly on-point sometimes that I am often happy to think that Venus, Saturn, and the bones of Copernicus are responsible for who I am today. But invariably I’ll read one of those long monthly forecasts online that predicts the best days for me to plant corn or have an orgasm and I’ll get all excited, and then I’ll get mixed up and plant my corn on my orgasm days and then our garden goes CRAZY and I’m finding Doritos in my underpants.
According to my latest horoscope, Wednesday was supposed to be some amazing career day where if I asked for a raise I’d totally get one, not taking into account the fact that I work for a government agency and am about as likely to get a raise as to get a city-sponsored hot air balloon to pick me up for work in the morning. Ironically, however, I finally got the insurance check for my totaled car and put it into the bank on Wednesday, so it was a big money day? But the astrologer who told me to ask for a raise maybe has a limited imagination about how creatively the stars and planets can reach into my wallet.
I have to say, there was some weird energy in the air around the middle of the week. We were watching the most recent Downton Abbey episode on Tuesday night and Jack made a crack about Lady Mary wanting to learn to cook and I burst into tears. Then Wednesday I just felt itchy and manic, which means I was probably tailgating you and thinking uncharitable thoughts about your inability to use your turn signal, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wondered what it would be like to smack into you if you opened your car door just a little wider and stuck your ass out just a little farther into the street without checking for oncoming traffic. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I glared and complained into the airless dark of my goddamned rental car with its mushy steering and terrible shocks and lazy acceleration and ugly interior.
I was on my way over to Renaud’s the next morning to buy croissants for an early morning staff meeting and as I got out of my car I sort of fell in next to this woman who was clearly going to Renaud’s, too. It’s awkward enough to be walking next to a total stranger through an empty strip mall, but she was walking at a pace that made me really anxious because I was going to be late if I didn’t get my hustle on, but she was older than me and my God, who was I becoming? Someone who fantasized about clipping pedestrians and beating old ladies to the front of the croissant line? So I sped up to a trot and passed her, and she made this little gasping noise, and when I got to the door I held it open for her so she could go in first. SWITCHEROO. It was really funny how relieved she was to find that I wasn’t actually a giant asshole. She ordered her latte and was so happy, now she wouldn’t be late for school (she was a substitute teacher), and what did I do? Oh, libraries are wonderful! Librarians are wonderful, too! You’re buying croissants for librarians? THAT’S WONDERFUL.
So I felt like I got my karma straightened out a little. I did some other nice stuff for old people that day, too, but I’m not going into it other than to say you need to watch out for some of those old guys, they are super flirtatious. I bet they know all sorts of things about plowing corn.
This drawing was a long time coming, it’s for someone who got on board after I’d closed donations so she just sent me $20 and told me what to draw, which is a “witty, postmodern version of Alice falling down the rabbit hole.”
Get it? She’s falling into a black hole! Which you might have picked up even if my little Stephen Hawking in the corner didn’t tip you off. I put a stretched-out pocket watch in there for a reference to the March Hare with a dash of Dalí. (Like I need to explain that to you.) Anyway, this took an inordinate amount of thought on my part, plus I was intimidated by having an actual commission. I will try to get over it, because this was fun and I want to do more.