Yesterday I had a nightmare that I was forced to consume one of those Starbuck unicorn drinky thingies, as my youngest goddaughter calls them. I woke feeling sick, and not just because the combination of neon food coloring, glitter dust, cream, white sugar, and mango and mocha syrups would put me in all kinds of hospitals. That wrongheaded beverage represents everything toxic and fake in our dystopia right now—especially in our reality TV White house.
Officially, Venus retrograde is over but we’re in its shadow until May 18, which means we’re still wearing Venus Retrograde goggles. Our aesthetics are off, diplomacy is impaired, love connections are misfiring, and bank balances are at an all-time low. It doesn’t help that, with Mercury retrograding in bratty Aries, checks are getting lost in the mail and airlines are throwing cosmic temper tantrums. We even have a Retrograde President—a unicorn drinky thingie president*, if you want to get technical about it.
Personally, I’ve never been puffier nor less employed, and I just can’t get my bearings. It took a hot minute, for example, before I realized it wasn’t just the unicorn frappuccino dream making me sick yesterday morning. This month’s periodic table** had arrived in such a Carrie maelstrom that my pretty bedding and favorite nightgown were a dark, sticky mess, and when I went to fetch stain remover, I saw that the contractors renovating my building had painted the gorgeous glass window above my apartment door a fecal brown.
Man, do I miss Venus. As Bez said, “I hadn’t realized how much I relied on her to get through the day until she went on sabbatical.” My advice? Clean your house, close your wallet, and say please and thank you at every turn.
*It pains me to refer to Donald J. Trump as our President but, hashtags notwithstanding, it’s not doing anyone any favors to pretend otherwise.
**my favorite euphemism