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egyptian days

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.

flea market finds part 2

  booze bottles i fell in love with a month ago… luckily for me, by waiting a month for the next flea market i was able to get them both for 4.00 less than they wanted last time!  sometimes it pays to wait.  (glad i didn’t miss them though, how cute are they!?!)

fantasizing…

I’m waiting for my pizza.

There is a restaurant here in my town that serves the most divine pizza.  Granted, it’s not the old world pizza that is flat, and has a small amount of fresh, delicious ingredients, like fresh tomatoes, basil and olive oil from the region.  This is straight up American, with thick, carbohydrate-rich crust, and about seven pounds of cheese.   Slices so heavy you have to have a rub down after dinner.

The atmosphere at the restaurant is almost as surprising as the low prices.  Located next to a scrap metal dump, this restaurant sits unassumingly, pulled back from the street, almost daring passersby to notice it.  Not that you could miss the delicious aroma.   Wafting through the streets, traveling the airspace to your nostrils, you would HAVE to stop and ask yourself, “am I starving to death all of a sudden?  I believe I’m going to pass out if I don’t get some delicious Italian food right this instant!”  Don’t worry.  It happens all the time.   Finding a parking space on a Friday is a rarity, though, so if the sudden hunger hits you on the weekend, best get there early or the wait is astronomical.  Coming into the restaurant you will notice that the dimly lit ambiance isn’t as much romantic as it is homey.  This is a local favorite, and families come together for laughter, the breaking of bread, maybe a little booze.  Adding to the flavor of the familial atmosphere is the ghost in the bathroom, who runs in and out of stalls, waving the doors.  Maybe no one else has noticed but me.  It’s like a customer loved the food so much, they never wanted to leave.  And who could blame her?  Perfectly proportioned toppings, with that homemade crust, so hot and delicious, and melting like perfection on your taste buds.

I’m anticipating the ranch dressing.  A trick I learned working at a pizza bar, when you have decent ranch, dip that thing in and it’s like heaven in your mouth.  I don’t always do this, because of course the pizza is perfect enough as is.  But the ranch dressing here is so good people come in just to pick up a tub.  It’s good enough to eat by itself.  By the spoonful.  My mouth is watering.  I want my pizza now.  I want my mouth full of ecstasy now, please.  NOW.

Of course, the pizza that I’m waiting for isn’t coming until Friday.  Or Saturday.  And here it’s only Thursday.  And I’m not getting DeLuca’s this weekend.  I have a frozen pizza in the freezer, waiting to ‘self-rise’ in my oven. 

Sigh.

Hey, I can still anticipate.

suicide etiquette 101

 

This weekend started off in a pretty interesting manner. I was at work minding my own business when someone I know (but just barely) asked me if I could tell when people were going to die. This may SOUND like a bizarre question, but it isn’t really, when factoring me into the conversation. I am a bit of a psychic. I don’t know if I should say that, because it’s not like I’ve been tested and approved, like some of those new commercials or adds brag about. Still, I’ve been known to acquire information accidentally. Like which player on the team is going to get the winning touchdown, or what your favorite sexual position is, or who has a problem staying away from the “ladies”. So the question didn’t surprise me, and I told her that even if I DID know when someone was going to die, I wouldn’t tell them. I mean, come on. “By the way, you have a week to live. Hope you have something planned”.

Her response was curious. “Oh, well I’ve been thinking about killing myself, and I just wondered if that showed up”.

Well obviously, this freaked me right out. She wasn’t telling me she was headed off to Rite Aid to get a fresh razor blade, or off to KMART for a load of ammunition, but it was unsettling nonetheless. And it’s not like I don’t understand these issues; depression, insanity, the call of a nice shiny pointed object. I get it. But this sounded to me like a call for help.

I was rattled by this open bald-faced admission, and went to another friend for a word of advice. Do I give this person my home phone number, so they can talk to me about this issue? Do I call the police? Do I alert her immediate supervisor? We settled on me giving her a hotline number, urging her to email me RIGHT NOW, and setting up a date for coffee NEXT WEEK, emphasizing that she WILL be around still next week. I was encouraged not to try to handle this situation myself, but to try to redirect her to a professional.

Still, that night I cried for quite some time. I was worried. I felt responsible. I thought that if she DID kill herself, and I was the only one that knew about it, I was totally culpable. What should I have done differently? I ended up calling her on her cell phone, and she was very flippant and nonchalant about the whole situation. “Oh, this is something I’ve been dealing with since I was fifteen. I think about it all the time”.

She wasn’t REALLY going to kill herself. She got depressed. She thought about her mortality. She cuts herself and takes pills sometimes, but not deeply enough to sever anything of importance (relatively) and not so many pills that she whacks herself off. So what, is this all just about the drama? Are you bored? Do you just want to give people around you nervous breakdowns?

No really, I very much understand this whole situation and way of life. But I just seriously think you need to get some help. Life can be better than this. You CAN be happy, if you want. Eventually. With pills. Or booze. Or a credit card that allows you to do a lot of shopping.

So I’m worried about this girl, and the next day am still bothered about the situation, and then yesterday talked to my therapist about this, and even today had to discuss the issue with several other people. Because this is serious. This isn’t like suddenly changing your hair color, or radically altering your physical appearance with tattoo sleeves or facial modification. This is the end of your life. This is you laying this death on someone else’s shoulders … potentially.

Sometimes people kill themselves, I understand that. I get that some people find this a viable option and a necessary evil, and I’m not advocating it nor am I denouncing it. It is, and has been, a part of life. But seriously, you need to think about WORDING people. If you talk casually about suicide on a regular basis, in front of people you barely know, you will likely get a reaction. If it isn’t really something that is a “big deal”, maybe you should consider just saying you’re depressed. Or angry. Or that you hate life. Actually going so far as to say you are thinking about killing yourself is a bold statement that will likely be met with some sort of response involving your immediate supervisor, the police, or a mental health professional. People DO care; but please, if you are just bored with your life, or looking for a way to pass the time, or just don’t have anything interesting to say, then you need to think up some new lines. It just isn’t good suicide etiquette to fake people out about your mental desperation. Next time, I might just hand you the extra gun I have in my glove compartment.