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But I don’t want to wake up.

Jeez, it’s like I’ve been in a bunker around here. Work, work, work, then yesterday Jonny had a miserable cold (and he almost never gets sick), and the next thing I know it’s more than a week and I haven’t updated the blog. For which you might well thank me – because it is beyond boring to read about how busy someone is. And I have little else to share.

I mean, I could tell you about how my hair started falling out a couple of years ago, when my progressed Moon entered my first house. I blamed it on a deadly stress cocktail of school and home renovation, but even after my life stabilized, the hairline didn’t. So last week I abandoned my flaxseed and evening primrose oil hopes and officially descended into the shameful, heart of darkness, Rogaine for Women abyss. It’s true: I am dosing my scalp twice daily with this astringent goo, in hopes of Stimulating My Folicles. I simply don’t have the bone structure to pull off baldness. When did women start going bald, anyway? One friend, slightly younger than I am, is having a similar struggle; another friend has been wearing a wig since her late thirties. What gives? Is Oprah talking about this?

I could tell you of our restless ruminations about buying property overseas; about the fact that I’m finding it next to impossible to carve time out of my days to write This Friggin’ Book; about how I’m really not sleeping well, not at all, and that I blame this – all of this – on transiting Uranus aspecting my 12th house Neptune. “Wake up!” Uranus is fairly screeching at me, and I just want a good night’s sleep and a vacation. And some hair.