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9:36 p.m. - July 24, 2003 Past life diagnosis: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I don't know how you feel about it, but you were female in your last earthly incarnation. You were born somewhere in the territory of modern South Australia around the year 1125. Your profession was that of a digger, undertaker. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Your brief psychological profile in your past life: Person with huge energy, good in planning and supervising. If you were just garbage-man, you were chief garbage-man. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation: Your lesson is to learn humility and faith in spiritual principles. You should believe in higher reasons. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Do you remember now? Could this be why I'm terrified of graveyards? Did I meet an unfortunate end, as I fell headlong into a 6 foot deep hole? Anyway. Today, this is what happened. Maybe you'll find it funny. You know how life is. Today I went to Giant Eagle to pick up my pictures from Baltimore,and I was walking to my car, heard a honking noise...then PLOP, PLOP. Something hit my on the back of my brand new sweater from Baltimore. "Sheeeeet," said I, as I recovered from my aerial assault from Canadian geese. "Fuck. My new sweater. Fuck." I checked my sweater in the little sideview mirror. Two green globs on my sweater from H&M. Gag. "Shit." I pondered the irony of me uttering this expletive, as I stood with bird poop on the back of my sweater. "Okay...well." I exhaled. "Well, I do have another shirt in the car." So I meandered over to the passenger side of my car and unlocked the door, tossed in my purse and my keys and grabbed my blue zip-up shirt (which came with a pair of running pants.) I was wearing a tank top (albeit a skimpy one) under my sweater, so I decided to yank off my sweater and wear the zip-up shirt. So I did that, carefully peeling off my sweater, as not to get bird poop in my hair. Tossed the sweater on the floor of my car and put on my blue zip-up shirt. Before I even realized it, I had locked the door and shut it closed before I had a moment to react. "Oh, fuck." (I swear, I don't swear this much). My cell phone is in my purse. I find a customer and ask if I could borrow her cell phone to call my mom, so I could be freed from the parking lot. I waited nearly half an hour for my mom. I wondered if she misunderstood me on the cell phone, or if she thought I meant for her to come at 6:30, and not for me to be home by 6:30, as I was planning to eat dinner with a friend of mine...Meanwhile, the first ten minutes I was waiting, I was finding everything very highly amusing, having a bird poop on me--on my brand new sweater, no less! And wondering if it was a subtle hint that my shirt looked terrible or something. The new sweater is soaking in the washing machine now, and I'm just praying that the stain comes out. It looked like it was gone in pretty deep. And the damn bird also plopped a little present on my khakis--which are also relatively new, from J.Crew. Is nature mad at me, or something? First a flood to distract me from my studying, and now bird shit? Anyhow. Other news: I'm going to start seeking life in Cleveland, but since I don't want to go alone, I've gotta get some friends who want to go to these clubs and performances with me. And I am determined to do this. I NEED to do this. I can't just stay here in this area all the time. And also, you know how I mentioned the former football player from CWRU who was sort of interested in me? Umm. He got promoted...all the way to Boston. But here's the thing. I'm sad about it! Isn't that weird? I love talking to the guy, he's nice and fun to talk to, and I guess I was thinking that he and I would be hitting the clubs and listening to music at the Grog Shop or the Beachland, but I guess not anymore. He's moving next week. Well, we'll be keeping in touch. He did ask me this: "I'd still like to keep in touch with you over e-mail, I enjoy our little musings, but if you're not up for it I understand." I also emailed a couple other people. But no word. And definetely no word from Toad. Oh well. Life's that way, I suppose.
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