A few weeks ago, an astrologer friend slipped me my December horoscope early. While I don't live my life by the zodiac, I enjoy reading horoscopes nonetheless. (Admit it. You do, too.) Apparently I am going to be "emotional and introspective" for most of the month, which is completely not like me at all! In addition, the stars have given me the green light to spend money on frivolous things — a nice change from the checks I've been writing to various doctors and hospitals. Finally, I could find myself engaged. I assume some words got chopped off there. Engaged in a to-the-death Uno battle? Engaged in a lengthy, poorly informed diatribe about tax brackets? We shall see.
On the new agey scale, with zero being disbelief and 10 involving phrases like "energy vortex," horoscopes are maybe a two. Get up to the five-and-six ideas, though, and then I get giddy with anticipation. It's not that I think woo-woo stuff holds the secrets of the universe. Quite the opposite. I just think it's fascinating to see what people do in the name of exploring spirituality. I'm not a believer, yet I can't help but be intrigued by the existence of enzyme baths and salt-filled float tanks. Hey, if it works for you, then by all means enjoy your Tibetan singing bowls.
Once, for a job, I went to an open house at an expensive new agey spa. The tour was all kinds of nuts, and I loved every cuckoo minute of it. Right off the bat, my guide said that she could tell that my third eye was particularly strong — which was great news, because my first two eyes are a bit farsighted. Another woman said that I should have Milo's emotions read by an intuitive healer ($100/hour), and that doing so would explain Sergeant Shortlegs' bratty behavior. (This could be done over the phone, and I wondered how the healer would know that he was dealing with Milo. For all he knew, I could be making Minou meow into the receiver.) After touring the yoga rooms, I was advised to purchase crystals to bring the right kind of energy into my home. Then I walked over to a machine, put my hand on it as instructed, and listened to a man explain the significance of my aura's color. I am curious yellow.
Time and time again, new-age experts say that I have good energy. It's always nice to hear that, but really, what else would they say? If they thought I had bad juju, it's not like they'd tell me. "Your brittle soul drips with the stench of death" isn't exactly the sort of phrase that's likely to get people to sign up for pricey feline reiki sessions. While I do think certain people do give off (ugh, I hate this phrase but it fits) bad vibes, I don't think strangers can know whether I have good energy. After all, I'm frequently curmudgeonly. I doubt that curmudgeons can astral project.
Anyway. December. I will let you know how that engagement works out. (For what it's worth, my astrologer friend has given an in-person reading to fellow Taurus Bobby Pattinson, so you never know how the stars may align. If a conflict-free diamond is proffered, this zodiac stuff might be worth following after all.)
On the new agey scale, with zero being disbelief and 10 involving phrases like "energy vortex," horoscopes are maybe a two. Get up to the five-and-six ideas, though, and then I get giddy with anticipation. It's not that I think woo-woo stuff holds the secrets of the universe. Quite the opposite. I just think it's fascinating to see what people do in the name of exploring spirituality. I'm not a believer, yet I can't help but be intrigued by the existence of enzyme baths and salt-filled float tanks. Hey, if it works for you, then by all means enjoy your Tibetan singing bowls.
Once, for a job, I went to an open house at an expensive new agey spa. The tour was all kinds of nuts, and I loved every cuckoo minute of it. Right off the bat, my guide said that she could tell that my third eye was particularly strong — which was great news, because my first two eyes are a bit farsighted. Another woman said that I should have Milo's emotions read by an intuitive healer ($100/hour), and that doing so would explain Sergeant Shortlegs' bratty behavior. (This could be done over the phone, and I wondered how the healer would know that he was dealing with Milo. For all he knew, I could be making Minou meow into the receiver.) After touring the yoga rooms, I was advised to purchase crystals to bring the right kind of energy into my home. Then I walked over to a machine, put my hand on it as instructed, and listened to a man explain the significance of my aura's color. I am curious yellow.
Time and time again, new-age experts say that I have good energy. It's always nice to hear that, but really, what else would they say? If they thought I had bad juju, it's not like they'd tell me. "Your brittle soul drips with the stench of death" isn't exactly the sort of phrase that's likely to get people to sign up for pricey feline reiki sessions. While I do think certain people do give off (ugh, I hate this phrase but it fits) bad vibes, I don't think strangers can know whether I have good energy. After all, I'm frequently curmudgeonly. I doubt that curmudgeons can astral project.
Anyway. December. I will let you know how that engagement works out. (For what it's worth, my astrologer friend has given an in-person reading to fellow Taurus Bobby Pattinson, so you never know how the stars may align. If a conflict-free diamond is proffered, this zodiac stuff might be worth following after all.)
Labels: neuroses
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