today is an Egyptian Day.
according to Nigel Pennick’s research, today (June 22) is a somewhat unlucky day. don’t worry, he lists a good many of them in his book, so it’s not a SPECIAL unlucky day, just a regular one.
but i started off today feeling rather wonky. out of body. swirly. my sister said i needed to go hold a stone, so i climbed the stairs, sat on my bed, and held a large crystal rock i was given. i had visions. and journeys. and hunger pains, so i went down and ate some Cheerios. but i did feel better.
then i went to work. now, this is what Nigel is saying in his book: if you can at all, don’t do that. don’t go to work on an Egyptian Day. or, you know, win the LOTTO the day before so you don’t have to. but i didn’t. win the LOTTO that is, so i DID have to go in to work. and while i was there the computer’s crashed so that customers couldn’t help themselves and had to wait in line for us, and we had to do everything old school style: sans online software. whew. not ideal.
but then, to add more excitement to the picture, i rolled over the top of my friend’s foot with the chair and potentially broke her toe. to this she exclaimed in true French fashion. so i ran to get ice. but of course, there was no quick-break-ice-pack in the medic box, so i had to go up 4 flights. and that doesn’t sound bad, except that the speed of our elevator is sort of like my Grandma when she was leaving church with her walker that she called “Ethel”…slow . but finally i did get to the floor i needed, and still no ice bags. so then i had to crack open ice from the ice trays and fill a baggie (which of course i couldn’t find in the first four drawers).
but finally – friend in ice and computers coming back from hibernation – i saw a cute patron and all seemed like it might right itself. but wait! the day is still not over! the final ‘guest’ of the day runs in to pick up something and gets into a lengthy conversation with a co-worker, while the other workers are breathing like dragons down my neck and security is turning all the lights off. and by now i’ve been twitchy for several hours (feeling the need to shift personalities) and i’m hungry and dreaming of liquid beverages you can’t get in a vending machine.
which i consumed upon coming home.
(after i drove around for 1/2 an hour trying to get a pizza, getting cash, avoiding people going to a baseball game, avoiding the three cop cars hanging around the middle of the street and the two on the corner whose occupants were wrestling a drug addict on the ground spouting blood from his face)
so yeah, next time just stay home.
there used to be something in town called “the Clothesline Project”. admittedly, i havne’t looked into it to see if this is a nationwide thing, or just something here in Lansing. every year during the East Lansing Art Fair (held over by Michigan State University) the Clothesline Project would go up. people would write whatever they wanted on tee shirts, or paint a picture, and then these shirts would be hung up for viewing. most of the ones i saw were for empowerment or healing; people trying to deal with cancer or AIDS; someone recovering from alcohol or drugs; a victim of domestic violence or rape. these shirts saying “I Am Powerful” or “I Can” or “Love Makes the Difference” – whatever the message, these tee shirts strung up on a clothesline had a powerful impact on me every time i saw them.
this art installation -though perhaps not empowering in the same way – is a beautiful piece of work, and at the point i have taken the pictures, it has withstood the weather beautifully.
I don’t know if anyone else has made this discovery, or if it’s just me. But:
mosquitoes are assholes.
I totally get that there is a circle of life, and that we are all sustained by one another. I also understand that vampires and insects are apt to want to nibble on me, because my blood is so sugary sweet and apparently I taste like cinnamon or honey. Who could resist that?
But seriously, do you have to go up into the highest part of my thigh, next to the Holy Land to get a bite to eat? I’ve got perfectly good skin in other, less inconvenient places. Now I look like I have crabs because I’m fidgeting all day, trying to rub my legs together to scratch in an awkward area. And thanks also for leaving bites on my ass, because it’s always attractive to be scratching there too. I look like a fucking baseball player.
So yeah, mosquitoes are complete assholes, and if I knew where their private parts were I’d stick ‘em with a pin to see how they liked it.