Like a wild horse detained without food or water, the master has brought me to my knees. I have no desire to lead the way. I am at the mercy of the reins, the taste of cold metal between my teeth, daring me to resist.

I don’t think I could if I tried.

The week before Yule, Mercury retrograde hit me like a ton of bricks. I had attempted to dance playfully through the turbulence of these energies as they activated my Uranus/Saturn/Neptune conjunction in the second house—Taurus’s house of personal assets, property, finances, and the like—thinking I could still claim real estate success, cosmos be damned.

Then the news came about the apartment we thought we’d been manifesting (see part X of The Diaries) which ultimately… never existed! Joke’s on me.

Read The Cosmic Conception Diaries

Intentionally, I’d spent the night before in meditation, releasing all expectations and desires for this second lead, so the blow wasn’t quite as hard-hitting as the “shit box” apartment.

I humbly accepted defeat and decided I was done with apartment hunting until Mercury completed his revisions and took his business elsewhere.

What opened before me was the remaining expanse that is the Christmas season, with nothing left to distract me from all my buried traumas and difficulties surrounding this tender time of year.

What opened before me was a pit of grief that insisted that everything was suddenly “wrong” as I struggled with a sense of obligation to make it “right.”