So, you know about Mercury Retrograde, right? A friend posted recently: Remember, Mercury Retrograde = MIScomminictaing, MISplacing, MISunderstanding. Which gives way to REjuvenating, REplacing, REinventing, REdoing.
A lovely time when shit happens, and then happens some more, and seems to be happening to almost everyone you know, in some capacity.
Marital problems seem to be at the height for many couples during this time, and that is typically the case with us, too. This time around was markedly different: we did get into a big, blow-out, someone-takes-some-serious-space argument, BUT we wrapped it up so quick with so little damage, and dealt with it in a really health, productive way. Like that quote: replacing our old ways, reinventing our relationship. So, yay us.
Here's what I learned tonight, if Mercury can't get you one way, it'll get you another. Example: tonight was date night. It was going great; we'd finished dinner at Por Que No, had shots of espresso at Common Ground, and had just exited Powell's on Hawthorne. My outfit was pretty hot, tight skinny denim and my amazing Fluevog pumps (how many times have I mentioned those on the blog???) with black leather jacket and freshly dyed red hair pulled back tight. I was just about to step into the car to head to the Peter Murphy show...and I heard loud squishy popping sound and simultaneously felt an impact on the left side of my head. It only took me a split second to realize, I been hit by an egg.
I've never been victim to senseless teenage pranks, which I gather the case to be. A fucking egg drive-by? Which, by the way, was not only humiliating but Owwwwwwwwwww. So how did I react? I wanted to cry but I didn't at first. I just asked Blake for towels and started to clean the ooze out of my hair. I just thought calmly while I did so, and paid attention to what what coming up for me.
Luckily, my humor, although completely internal, was intact. Just seconds after I'd realized the clear goo dripping down my head was in fact an egg, I saw the yolk color and it was yellow. "Huh. Clearly not from a free-range, foraging chicken or the yolk would be orange. That was sooooo un-Portland of them." (There is Portlandia sketch in there somewhere.)
I knew right away that it wasn't personal. People are, at times, douches...and young people, bless 'em, can be super-duper douches. For a moment I thought, here I am on a date with my honey, a mother of three children who challenge and fight me nearly everyday, and I have this moment where I get to rejuvenate, and reclaim and reward myself, and in an instant feel psychically knocked down by a prank. I passed through that, knowing that pranks by strangers are not personal. That was about them, not me. When I admitted all that, I did let myself cry a little, and that passed, too.
Blake stood by and handed me towels, and I felt him follow my lead. I knew what he wanted to do, hunt down that car and beat the shit out of the punk that beaned his wife. Instead he verbalized his own wave of processing: "I am feeling angry right now and I'd like to go punch someone in the face." And then "I am feeling really violated right now." Which was something I felt, too, but I hadn't been able to identify it.
I asked him to bring me to Nomad so I could wash my hair out in the sink, as there were bits of eggshell stuck to me as well. I couldn't bear to go back into Powell's or use the New Seasons bathroom, I just needed a quiet place to gather again. A shame too because my hair was in the perfect bun, and I had to re-do it, and it didn't come out the same.
When I was all cleaned up, we headed to the show. My mood was more reserved than normal, but that went over just fine given we were at a goth show. So, there was that. Another bright side was that no egg got on my pumps. But best of all was that, I rode it and I didn't let it ride me. So take that Mercury Retro-egg, see you next time around.