Is yours an impersonal, uncaring universe? Must be nice.

I'm not especially superstitious. Well, not really. Nor am I religious, nor narcissistic enough [cough, Elizabeth Gilbert] to actually think that everything around me unfolds in the way that it does for the sole purpose of being instructive to me (yes, me!).

Nevertheless.

We move now without proper segue to Exhibit A, a Doonesbury cartoon that I unfortunately can't find on the internet and hence will have to describe.

Setting: Mike Doonesbury is having a discussion with his (then-)wife, J.J.

Mike: "Seriously? You want to move to New York?"
J.J.: "I think the moment has arrived, Mike."
Mike: "But..."
J.J.: "Michael, I've finished my paintings. Your job's in New York. My cat just died. The car broke down. It's time!"
The phone rings.
Mike: "Hello?"
Voice on phone: "Hi, Mike, it's your landlady. I'll come right to the point. I've sold the house."
Mike: "What is this, a made-for-TV movie?"
J.J.: "It's events, Mike. They're overtaking us!"

Let me hasten to assure you that, knock on wood, the cats are fine. The car is in the shop as we speak, but nevermind. Consider: a week-ish ago, I introduced the possibility of the deaning job. I noted the unfortunate timing of it all: the cunning plan codenamed Wedding Singing Beta had just been launched; K was on step 3 (of 4) of the lengthy process of becoming a wedding singer himself.

And this week? Wedding Singing Beta is prematurely defunct; the gig awarded, but, surprisingly, then withdrawn on bureaucratic technicality. K fell, against predictions, on the third hurdle.

And today, specifically? After more than two years renting the same apartment without major incident, we get a bolt-from-the-blue email from the crazy and highly unpleasant absentee landlady, tersely informing us that she's moving back from country-far-away and we have until March 31 to get out; her own movers arrive here on April 1.

Are there times when it's rational to think that someone is trying to tell you something?

Or -- because I'm in a speaking-in-parables mood (which is to say, very tired and not so much up for original blogging):

After many days of hard, continuous rain, the river is in danger of flooding, and word goes out that people may have to abandon their homes. When the river crests, water pours through the town, inundating the houses, and it continues to rise. Firemen are sent in a small motorboat to ensure everyone is leaving. When they come to the house of the rabbi, they find him standing knee-deep in water on his front porch.
"Come on, Rabbi," say the firemen. "The river will go much higher, and you should leave with us."
"No," says the rabbi. "God will protect me." And he sends them away.
The river rises higher, the rabbi is forced to go up to the second floor of his house, and now the police come in a motor launch.
"Come on, Rabbi," the police say. "There isn't much time."
"No," insists the rabbi. "I will stay right here. God will look after me." And he sends them away.
Now the river rises so high that the rabbi is forced to stand on the roof of his house. When the National Guard arrive in a large boat, telling him that the river is sure to go even higher, the rabbi says, "All my life I have been a man of faith, and I will stay now, and trust in God," and sends them away.
The river rises, the rabbi is swept away, and the rabbi drowns.
Forthwith he appears in heaven, where he angrily approaches the throne of God, demanding, "How can You have let this happen to me? For all my life I have kept Your mitzvot. I have done what You asked, and trusted in You. Why, why?"
And the voice resounds forth from the throne: "I sent three boats, you schmuck."

If, y'know. I believed in such things.