I was explaining to someone yesterday what happens when Mercury goes direct. “You know how in the cartoons, the Roadrunner comes to a screeching halt at the end of the cliff and Wiley Coyote always slams into something? It’s like that. You have ripple effects.”

And I didn’t even know then how bad the next 24 hours would be.

See, when Mercury finally goes direct (as it did yesterday), shit also happens - just to me, though, not anyone else:

Though Mercury retrograde will be over by next week, there could be a final bombshell anxiously in wait to be lobbed at us. No need to fear the reaper, people. Think of this as a shove from a lovingly pushy parent-figure. How else to conquer, for instance, a fear of public speaking, if not by being forced to speak in front of people? Let the embarrassment rise to the surface—even the worst humiliation is a valuable experience.

I’m as ready as the next guy to assume the snafus have all been ironed out. Hell, I’ve now been through four visits from the cable company, and four new cable boxes (Apparently, according to both techs who came out, the equipment they’re making these days is pretty crappy.) I’ve lost my free HBO, then gotten it back, then lost it again. I’m eager to appeal to the customer service call center for my complimentary month of cable service, since I clearly deserve it. But I’m going to wait another few days before making that call… to make sure the fourth box is the charm, and no more transmission surprises or ghosts-in-the-machines are lurking around the corner.

I was supposed to meet my landlady, give her a deposit and sign the lease this morning. No car, so my best friend offered to pick me up and take me there, which made me happy. (My feet still hurt from last night.)

First, East River Drive was closed, so we had to find our way there by the back way. Then, when we got there, it turned out the landlady forgot to bring a lease. She said she’d take an old one, White-Out the names and photocopy it at the Staples about a mile away. We could follow her in our car and sign the lease in the parking lot, she said.

We drove down to the Staples and sat in the lot, waiting. (And waiting, and waiting.) Finally, I went in to look for her, but she wasn’t there. That’s when I realized there’s a parking lot on the far side of the building - and she wasn’t there, either.

We caught up with her back at her store, where we finished up the formalities. Then we went back to my house, where I was hoping to jump the battery in my car and maybe get it operable again. I told my friend not only did I have cables, they had the directions printed on the cover.

Except that I couldn’t find them; they weren’t in my trunk. I looked through everything but no dice. Fortunately, my friend had them - and hers had directions, too.

Have I ever mentioned that my friend is an insurance risk manager? She wasn’t thrilled at the warning about the battery exploding in your race, and when I tried to attach the final clamp to the engine block, it was shooting sparks. When I finally got it attached, it set off the car’s security system; the horn’s honking and the headlights are flashing.

“What the fuck,” I said. (Because lately, my nerves are frayed.) “Is it just me, or have you ever noticed my life is one goddamned obstacle after another?” She shook her head. “Only you, Susan. Only you.”

Well, the damned horn finally stopped, I got the battery charged and the ABS warning light went off after I whacked the relay box (as suggested by a reader).

Oh, and did I mention my new place is right across the street from a mechanic? Thank you, Jesus.