By Maria Padhila
This is what Isaac promised me the other day — and no laughing! The ongoing disruption of putting our place together after the flood this summer (yes, it really has taken this long) is almost over, and he promised me that when I finished moving the last of the books, we could bring in a cleaning team to give everything a going-over. But he mixed his metaphors in a way even our daughter found hilarious.
I don’t care — I think I like it his way even better. I picture a surrealist sex-imagery painting of a giant carrot hovering at the entrance of a vine-covered railway tunnel.
I have my fill of carrots, but I’m still not seeing the light. I’m no longer in denial that my workplace is toxic. A rash covering my body, joint pain, pins and needles in my hands and feet, stomach problems — I’m like one of those badly-drawn cartoons on those cheesy Internet ads for “The American Parasite.” That’s bullshit, by the way — there are parasites everywhere, and we actually might be better off if we had a few. What’s hitting me is more likely an allergy, which is the immune system operating far too effectively, and attacking oneself.
No, I’m infected with the real American Parasite: work. Work the way many of us do it: too long, no breaks, no breathing, no connections. Work where you don’t see much in the way of results or satisfaction. Working for the Man. It makes us sick: hypertension, diabetes, COPD, strokes.
But I had a hand-to-forehead moment when I realized what was going on: Saturn just moved into my 6th house: health, work, service. I really, really hate Saturn right now. He is just a DICK. And not the good kind. I used Serennu, an amazing astrology look-up service Eric has recommended, to check out the Saturn numbers. I’ll also advise that when you’re being hit with a bunch of seemingly inexplicable issues from all sides, it’s a good time not only to check out your chart but to get an outside perspective, maybe from a session with Eric or Len Wallick or one of the other writers on this site.