One frequent theme to my dreams has been, and continues to be "things aren't where they're supposed to be".
As if I didn't know that.
As if I didn't know that I'm not where I'm supposed to be.
As if I can do anything about the problems.
My subconscious mind is complaining that it can't find a pair of trousers and I can't find a life. Bah.
Some species of weeds become even more robust and entrenched as they develop resistances to the pesticides that are designed to eradicate them. This is one example of how fighting a problem can make the problem worse -- especially if you attack too furiously or use the wrong weapons. I invite you to consider the possibility that this might be a useful metaphor for you to contemplate in the coming weeks. Your desire to solve a knotty dilemma or shed a bad influence is admirable. Just make sure you choose a strategy that actually works.
This summer there has been a mice infestation here at Rather Manor. We don't know how many of them there are, but their droppings are firm evidence of their movements around the premises.
Dad found one of them dead this morning. It had drowned in the kitchen wash basin. I'd had a moral dilemma about buying poison baits to use against the mice, partly because of fear of the possible impact on the surrounding wildlife. I guess this might be a sign to let stupidity take care of its own.
FP
Of all the forbidden fruits that you fantasize about, which one is your favorite? Among the intriguing places you consider to be outside of your comfort zone, which might inspire you to redefine the meaning of "comfort"? The coming weeks will be a favorable time to reconfigure your relationship with these potential catalysts. And while you're out on the frontier dreaming of fun experiments, you might also want to flirt with other wild cards and strange attractors. Life is in the mood to tickle you with useful surprises.
That first sentence reminded me of an entry I wrote in 2008:
To condense a lot of happenstances into something more undestandable:
* My car's brakes were inspected a couple weeks ago. There's still some horrible noise coming from the rear, but the problem I'd had was for the most part fixed.
* Dad traded in the Cadillac for a Camry--and two weeks later got in an accident with it. On Wednesday I'll take it to the repair shop for him.
* We were planning on a trip up north to coincide with Dad's high school class reunion, but that may not happen if our money situation has a big crimp in it.
FP
Located in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the Museum of Failed Products is a warehouse full of consumer goods that companies created but no one wanted to buy. It includes caffeinated beer, yogurt shampoo, fortune cookies for dogs, and breath mints that resemble vials of crack cocaine. The most frequent visitors to the museum are executives seeking to educate themselves about what errors to avoid in their own companies' future product development. I encourage you to be inspired by this place, Sagittarius. Take an inventory of the wrong turns you've made in the past. Use what you learn to create a revised master plan.
*
I think the wrongest turn I ever made was moving to Tennessee. But I can't do anything about that.
I've had laryngitis for the last some days, and I wonder how long I will need to endure the condition.
I've even thought very seriously about the possibility of permanent speech loss and what that might do to what's left of my working life.
It's not like anybody's ever complimented me about my voice, or invited me to speak just to hear me talk. No, more often than not I'll be interrupted or cut off before I complete my trains of thought.
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