Every Ninth Day Astrology

So on June 26th I wrote that I had been, until then, incapable of writing prose for a living, and so far the only result of that is that I've been incapable of writing anything for nothing, not quite the desired result.

Never mind. Perhaps it's because of Uranus opposed to Neptune, which is supposed to be electrifying my sense of spirituality and giving me glimpses of cosmic unity with all creation. Any glimpses of cosmic unity that I've had have only made me wish this transit would hurry up and be over with (Uranus is squaring Saturn at the same time), and so far the only electrifying that's happened was last Monday when a raven pecked at the wrong thing on the utility pole and fried itself, knocking all out all power to the house, not that I knew that that was the cause at the time. All I knew was I was standing by the fridge wondering if I could eat lunch when I'd had breakfast only an hour before when there was a sudden loud POP and the whirring noise the fridge that was in the house when we bought it nine years ago usually makes stopped. Further investigation (flicking on a light switch) showed nothing in the house involving electricity functioned.

My immediate thought was Oh shit, another thousand dollars (not that my poor old Volvo has cost me a lot of money since I got here or anything), as after a month I am still waiting for an electrician to come and ground the water heater which evidently was not done when it was installed five years ago and has subsequently caused tiny pin holes to appear in the copper pipes (don't ask, but it's not a good thing). When the men from the power company finally arrived two hours later and one of them picked up the fried raven by one of its wings and brandished it at me to show me the culprit, I was so relieved it wasn't going to cost me any money and wasn't my fault I managed not to recoil and cheerfully said Life in the country.

And speaking of life in the country, the jungle sounds outside let me know poor Sweet Pea is being sexually harassed by #12's cat as I type - no! He's up on the windowsill meowing piteously to be let in and saved from his fate. Duty calls.

Hey, I wrote something.