I mentioned that I got my palm read last weekend when I was in DC, didn’t I? Interesting experience. A woman sitting on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building (which was on a street of residential and commerical buildings) in a plastic patio chair, wearing some bright house dress sort of thing with open-toed shoes and a fake fur coat that made her look like she was being attacked by a bear. A very shiny, synthetic bear, but a bear nonetheless. Clearly, this woman is a success in her field. Oh my.
Anyway, for the low, low price of only five bucks, she read my palm. Granted, Joe paid the five bucks (after getting not only his palm read but also a turn with the tarot cards), but I was skeptical. Still am. Not that I don’t believe there are people who can foretell the future… I do believe. (Hallelujah) I just have my doubts about women sitting on the sidewalk in bear coats. Y’know?
So, what does my future hold? Well… it was a mixed bag. Here is what she told me:
--I will have a long life.
--I will be the head of a big company. (This is so far from anything I’d ever want to do, I can’t imagine it. Once she said this, I pretty much went into skeptical/sarcastic mode.)
--I like to travel. (Well, duh. I’m a tourist, I’m in DC, clearly I enjoy leaving home.)
--I have doubts and indecisions about the future. (Of course! I’m indecisive about whether to buy my bear coat in black or brown fake fur.)
--I will have one marriage. (I pointed out my wedding ring when she said, “I see one marriage” and said, “Of course you do, here it is.” That did not win me points.)
--I will have two children.
--I will receive some good news between April 15th and 20th.
--My life is filled with good luck. (I will not argue with this one.)
--2004 will be a lucky year for me. (Here’s hoping.)
She said I have too many doubts in my mind, which apparently made it hard for her to read my future. Joe had a more positive response, but I didn’t get to hear his card reading because she shooed me out of the room. Guess I was casting too much bad energy on her work space. Oh well.
Lucky in 2004. That would be nice. If I get good news in the next week, I may just have to go back to DC and apologize for being so skeptical. And ask where she bought her bear coat.
I had a great time in DC, and Joe and I have both returned to our respective homes unscathed and no worse for wear (though we may have killed a few brain cells Saturday night...). Wish y’all could have been there with us. On second thought, no I don’t. I hate sharing a bathroom with even one person.
How did I spend my weekend, you ask? Ahh…
I had a couple nice dinners with some of Joe’s friends-- Saturday night it was at Logan Tavern (nice atmosphere, long wait, several yummy desserts we all shared and an excellent bottle of wine recommended by the fabulous waitress), Sunday night it was a French bistro, the name of which I can’t remember--I looked it up-- Bistrot du Coin (a lovely setting and a wonderful meal of ravioli in Swiss gruyere with a delicous sparkling house wine, but a snotty waitress) ; got my palm read (2004 is supposed to be lucky for me! Wooo...); saw a couple hundred hot looking guys in a bar and not a single one of them was straight; danced and drank amongst the hot (and, in some cases, bare-chested) gay guys until my body started shutting down from lack of sleep; shopped, shopped, shopped-- for walking shoes, a great new perfume, a beautiful red crystal necklace, lots o’ Lush!!-- in Pentagon City, Georgetown and elsewhere and would have shopped more if I’d had more time; I drank tons of coffee and hot chocolate because it was ridiculously cold and windy for April; saw the cherry blossoms in bloom; visited the Phillips Collection, the Hirshhorn Museum and made a brief run around the National Gallery of Art (mostly the gift shop...); spent a considerable amount of time in traffic getting to the hotel after picking Joe up from Reagan National, which was fine because it gave us a chance to catch up; rode the Metro, walked and took a cab once I turned my keys over to the valet-- which are the only ways to get around DC because driving is frustrating; spent a relaxing evening watching Kill Bill (a bizarre little flick); tried to visit the Spy Museum, but tickets had sold out; saw the White House, the Capitol and the Washington Monument-- all from a distance; hit a few bookstores and Starbucks; and, most importantly, got to spend some quality time with an old friend. Hopefully it won’t be another five years before we get to do it again.
Great weekend… but it’s nice to be home.
Did you ever walk by a mirror, in a hurry to get somewhere and not paying any attention, and catch a glimpse of your reflection? It was just a split second image in your periphery, a blur of skin and hair, but it caught your eye. Did you ever stop, go back and stare at yourself? The person you see full-on in the mirror is not the person you saw in that quick flash, but you can’t duplicate the moment because you can’t turn your head away far enough without losing sight of yourself. Except you know it’s possible because you saw yourself just a minute ago. Did you ever give up after a couple of minutes, because it seems silly and vain and you have more important things to do? It’s only later in the day that you remember the peek you got of yourself-- off guard, vulnerable, distracted-- and it makes you pause. Did you ever wonder who that person was you saw in the mirror for that split second?
That’s how I feel today.
The only thing worse than working on a pretty, sunny Saturday is working on a pretty, sunny Sunday. Sunday should be about sleeping in and having a leisurely brunch. Instead, I’m sitting under flourescent lights in a building with bad air, surrounded by people who would rather play on computers on a beautiful day than bask in the sunshine.
I was this close to not coming to work today. I was going to call in sick and go on a little road trip to keep a friend company (the reward being both the company and a side trip to IKEA). I was all prepared to do it, too. I even woke up before my alarm went off at 5:30 and started to get dressed. Alas, I was barely functioning on two hours’ sleep (and imbibed too many Bacardi Razz and 7-UPs last night, though sleep was a bigger factor) and had to wimp out. As much as I love being spontaneous, I need at least four hours’ sleep or a big pot of coffee (which I had neither the energy to make nor procure at 5:30 this morning). Sadly, if I’d only had the forethought to ask to be picked up rather than trying to motivate my slug-like body to drive so early in the morning, I probably would have been okay and enjoyed the trip. After a nap in the car, of course. So now I’m mourning both being inside on such a gorgeous day and missing out on the bountiful bargains at the home of Swedish housewares.
Sigh… Sorry, Shannon.
Of course, I’m off next weekend…
“Don’t get emotionally involved” should be tattooed backward on my forehead so I can read it every morning while contemplating my crazy mop of hair. Only, I would ignore that sage advice as I always have.
I am the queen of getting emotionally involved. From the time I was a young girl (with the same crazy mop of hair), I have let myself get drawn into other people’s lives and problems, trying to fix what’s broken, cure what’s ailing, heal what’s hurt. In the process, I’ve gotten hurt more than once myself. It’s not always easy to know the difference between a drama queen and a friend in need. Even with the real problems, it’s not always possible to make a difference. I know that, even though I may be too damned stubborn to admit it. Sometimes things are too broken to fix, the wounds too deep to heal. Sometimes, all you can do is hope. And sometimes you have to walk away.
I have found the easiest-- and hardest-- thing is to assume someone will do what’s right. It’s easiest because it is my nature to expect the best of people. It’s also the hardest because sometimes people screw up. Sometimes they do the exact opposite of what they should do and it is painful and destructive to everyone around them. Still, I’d rather expect the best and be disappointed once in awhile than to always be anticipating the worst. In my experience, people will live up-- or down-- to my expectations. I would rather raise them up, and walk whatever long, steep road I have to walk with them, than bring them down and cause even more damage to their spirit than they’ve already done to themselves.
As I have been reminded time and again, people have to want to help themselves before you can help them. The thing is, you don’t always know the day and time they’ll come to the realization they need help, so you have to be there-- patiently waiting, hoping and praying they figure it out before something goes horribly wrong. Whether it’s the friend in the waiting room of a clinic, eight weeks pregnant with bruises on her face and a fear her boyfriend is going to find out what she’s doing, or the friend who is staring into the bottom of a glass for the thousandth time, or the friend who just doesn’t feel like anything is worth caring about or living for anymore. Sometimes, all you can do is be there. And sometimes, that’s enough.
It would be so easy to turn my back, to walk away, to say it’s not my problem or to judge a situation that hits too painfully close to home. It’s so hard to stay put, listen quietly, lecture as often as necessary and endure watching someone hurt themselves while I hurt along with them. There have been times I have had to walk away because there was nothing more I could do and I was getting hurt by the situation. I hate giving up… hate it. It’s hell to live with that on my conscience and yes, I do feel responsible even if it’s not truly my responsibility. Because there, but for the grace of God, go I… and there, but for the love of someone who knew what to say (or faked it well) or knew when not to leave me alone, go I. It takes a lot for me to give up on someone. A lot. Because I don’t want to contemplate what it might have meant if the people I needed had given up on me.
You can’t save ‘em all, I’ve been told.
Why the hell not? I ask.
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