The week before my birthday was awesome. I was wrapped in the warmth and love of my friends. The weeks since…total darkness. I always get this mid-February depression thing. I’ve been in my apartment almost the whole week. Except when I went to the Food Stamp office midweek and witnessed some woman bitch-slapping her little kid with a fist. Nice, huh? No body did anything of course. We were all too busy listening to some other woman freaking out in the stairwell screaming “Motherfucker — red…motherfucker – blue….motherfucker-orange” . Not sure what she was getting at. “Sesame Street – The Ghetto Edition — Learn Your Colors Motherfucker”?
And then the guy behind me started bitching that some women up at the counter had cut ahead of him. He was yelling in my ear. He then started yelling at me to “DO SOMETHING“. Like me, the only white woman in the middle of 400 “culturally diverse people” could step in. Dude, I forgot my hand gun! What makes you think I could possibly get off a few warning shots into the ceiling, before getting my ass kicked?
I did go my Wednesday night art class. My oasis. The place where they talk to me like I’m normal (i.e., not bipolar or poor) and I was able to toss off a decent drawing of one of my favorite models.
Thursday and Friday…more couch time in my apartment in my pajamas. No human contact except phone calls from my mother talking about her grave site and imminent death.
I finally decided I had had enough. I had been watching these commercials on TV for a “Psychic Fair” at the local Holiday Inn Hotel, so I decided to just go, dammit. Sure, its flaky, but hey, I grew up 15 miles north of Haight and Ashbury in the 60’s and 70’s. I used to do astrology charts. I believe the moon and nature have magical powers. Why not?
And also I’m always looking for answers. Why do you think I’ve been in therapy so long? I’m not there for therapy. I’m there for answers! I also unfortunately bug the heck out of my friends for answers, like why do you think this person did that? Etc. I guess it comes from growing up with a mother who only talked about herself and never did anything to help me be a complete person.
So I headed over to the Holiday Inn, sort of with kind a half sneer (ha, what a bunch of loonies) and a half glimmer of hope. The old guy taking the money at the front counter was pretty weird. Bolo tie (oh witty, you know you used to wear them in the 70’s!) and humming WHILE he was talking. Was he getting some vibe off me?
….you will strip naked at the yuppie grocery store and jump up on the natural food display and sing “Yanni, How I love Ya, how I love Ya, My Dear ol’ Yanni!”
But no message was forthcoming. He just stamped a small face of an space alien on my hand and I went it. It was jammed… with mostly women. I really had no idea how or where to start. I knew I wanted to get a reading though. I had gotten over $100 for my birthday and had been really strict with myself. No gifties!! Must.pay.bills!! But I had decided that I was going to “let” myself do this. Sure Food Stamps had just completely cut off my food stamps this last week and its still up in the air whether I’ll get them, but dammit I wanted some answers. My life is really stagnant right now. I need to know what to do.
So I started to walk around and look at the various psychics and clairvoyants (“Jennifer: You have Uranus in your twelfth house” Why did that make me laugh like a 10 year old boy?) and reiki people and people dangling crystals over feet and my personal favorite the “Aura Photo – $20!” booth. My camera does that too. The swooshy, flare thing off the edge of the image? Its usually means your camera batteries are low, people!
Anyways, I was shocked at how expensive the readings were. $35-40 for 15 minutes. $70 for 30 minutes. Gulp! I sure wasn’t expecting it to be that much! I only had about $28 in my pocket…the last of my birthday money. I finally found an inner circle of (ahem) cut-rate psychics for only $25. One guy just looked plain scary, like a serial killer. Another one looked like my mother. No thanks. I finally got it down to a hippie chick and an African American woman. I took the African American woman. She had a raven sitting on her table. I liked ravens. And her name was “Ravin”. And I also kept thinking of Whoopi Goldberg in “Ghost” since she was sort of dressed like her in crushed purple velvet and lots of jewelry. So I set my appointment with Ravin…my Intuitive Consultant.
We finally met 25 minutes later. Most of the psychic ladies were holding hands with their people. Not Ravin. She just had me write my name on a piece of paper. She also had a pad of paper for me to write down her impending thoughts on. I wasn’t sure how to act or interact with her. Didn’t want to give her any info for her to work off of.
Guess what the first words out of her mouth were? “Guarded and has to be in control of every situation.” And oh dear, she did go on and on about that and me liking to be in control of everyone and everything. Can you imagine? Me?
And you better leave some comments, bitches.
And then her eyes rolled back in her head once again. (She was talking to her guides). And she said there was a lot of black energy around me and that my aura was very smudgy and that it was a grunge aura (I’m definitely copyrighting that name for like a band) and that I needed to breathe because it was taking all my air and I haven’t been able to function very well recently.
Hallelujah to that, baby!
She finally exited the Grunge Aura room and said that I would soon be the Executor of Knowledge. She kind of chuckled. She liked that title. “Executor of Knowledge”. Had a nice ring to it. All I could think was Executor of a will, considering how my mother’s been lately, but Ravin, in fact, said she saw that I would be teaching children and adults. She didn’t say what though.
Next up, out of no where. “You’re a writer, right?” WTF?? Now that was weird. Maybe it was because I’m Irish and look all depressed and angsty. She did tell me I’d be writing a book sometime soon. I rather think if I’m teaching anyone anything, it might be via a book, since I can’t see myself standing up in front of people pontificating, although I did want to be a music teacher when I was a kid.
She finally finished up by saying I really have to do something about taking care of myself first …AND STOP TRYING TO CONTROL EVERYBODY. All right already. And maybe create a “ME-room” with a lot of plants and music and sounds of gurgling brooks. She also said I needed validation. I started to cry at that point. Validation is a huge thing for me. Never got much growing up, which made me needy as an adult. And needy= No love life or a fucked up one. Working on that one. thanks.
Anyways, she finally asked if I had any questions. I was a little surprised that the subject of love didn’t come up. Isn’t that what most woman want to know about? She said nothing will happen until I get rid of my grunge aura and dark energy and then the men will “rush towards my light in droves”. Oh my goodness, I guess I better get those traffic signals working then!