When, oh when will I close on my house? I don’t know. Rob doesn’t know. The realtors don’t know. The lawyers don’t know. The sellers don’t know. The title company doesn’t know. This last is most important because they are the ones holding up the deal. I don’t even know what a title company is, but there is one standing between me and my own home. All of this is because Mercury is in retrograde, I just know it.

This morning, as I twirled around in residential limbo, I went to court with my friend Viki, who received a citation months ago for disturbing the peace. Actually, she committed the unspeakable crime of using a megaphone at a rally protesting cuts in public transportation, eight minutes after the permit to demonstrate expired. (Apparently, one must petition the government to protest against the actions of the government these days. As a primer for all of the “brown-skinned” people in the world whom Ann Coulter and the Chimperor feel are not quite capable of democracy, this is called free speech.) But I was a little late because I had to stop for gas, and in the short duration of the fill-up, the charges were dropped.

So we went to the mall.

And Ikea.

And then back to the mall.

And then I came home.

Now, if you will pardon me, I must go and eat an ice cream bar. Uh, I mean, wallow in dreary uncertainty.