Things were grinding along in their own tiring way when, a few weeks ago, I had some scary news. Financial. Not terrifying but certainly unnerving. It triggered a kind of quiver in my soul that took some handling. I found a sliver of faith; a shred of belief in the power of possibility. Because, frankly, what the fuck else was I going to do? Lie down and play dead and hope the malignant forces in the universe passed me by like bored bullies?
And, just as I began to breathe again the washing machine broke at a cost of £100. Then the car started playing up so that was £300. Then TWO of those bastard cameras caught me in a yellow grid, so parking fines setting me back another £120. The following day I flung a pint of water into my laptop at such an angle that it is irretrievably totalled so that’s a grand. I was almost limp with despair and, as I sat there, panting, my eyes cast upwards like the proverbial martyr, I noticed that there was water coming through the kitchen ceiling.
Now. Money problems are better than health problems (although I do feel kind of heart-attacky). But what is the universe doing? What kind of test is this and when will I have passed? Or failed? It’s as though Mercury and Venus – both in retrograde which I know because things are weird enough for me to turn to astrology – are holding hands and f***ing me in the ****. Sorry if that offends but I am offended. Is there a message? Do I need an exorcist?
“The universe will provide,” they say. “All will be well,” they say. Everything happens for a reason, apparently. Here’s the upside: I care less and less each time something breaks. Stuff is only stuff, money is only money, the ball just keeps rolling. You can go mad or you can go floppy. Suddenly, for the first time, it feels like a choice. I suppose that’s the lesson.