I must stop apologizing for my sporadic posts. But this blog at inception was really born with very idealistic and surreal visions of spreading constant inspiration to many (yeah right), as with my original 5-yr old but now almost defunct blogsite
"Thoughts at 3am", now called "At the Break of Dawn". I shouldn't have piggy-backed that site with Friendster. But how could I have known then?
I'm back here, trying desperately to conquer the writer's block. Or blogger's block, however you may want to call it.
I'm blocked, period. Blame it on spreading myself thinly the past months/couple of years. I had no choice but to write paid articles and posts everywhere on the net because let's face it, who doesn't want to rake in the moolah whenever there is an available and inviting opportunity for it? Free bucks, so to speak. All it takes is alloting a smidge of your time to publish some gibberish rigmarole a.k.a. run of the mill product reviews of sorts and then segueing bluntly to the required advertising links which sometimes readers won't even click on. Though it can easily add up to eons if you have a lot to accomplish, read: feeling greedy. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, isn't it? I still can't figure out how this new advertising avenue can work for most (does it really drive traffic; enough bang for their buck?), but I'm doing it because I get compensated for it. Remunerated for being myself -- verbal diarrheic predisposition and all, how cool is that? The whole plot is fulfilled. While my writing skill gets eventually dull and rusty.
I would cringe whenever I notice myself yielding juvenile output (with meticulously correct spelling though, thank you very much, but of course, with "LOLs" and smileys still mysteriously popping out of nowhere as if they were necessary evils and for those I painfully apologize; but it's substantial against the word count I guess, except for the smileys!) But when you're pressed for time, trying to meet a deadline -- with one of the companies sending you a notice that says,
"you have 12 hours to publish this so go ahead and take a shower first and don't forget to clean the back of your ears", this, amidst accomplishing some serious career excellence tasks in your bona fide grown up job, who wouldn't succumb to mediocrity? It's a habit-former, I tell you. (And I swear, I almost said "dang" somewhere there). Now you believe me.
*kEwL* *LOL* I'm just kidding. I loathe using text/chat lingo, but I embrace it at times. Mine is an affair of the schiz kind with it. Aaaah, my muse still eludes me. I'm halfway through this post and all I've done is nothing but blabber and explain myself. Narcissistic, aren't we?
I digress.
THE PSYCHICHave I told you that...
(of course, I haven't)...that a "psychic" approached me last weekend? Hubby and I headed down south for a mini-vacation to attend my stepdaughter's graduation. We were hanging out in the mall and I went inside the Saks Fifth outlet called Off 5th to find a friend who we were supposed to meet up with. She's my husband's friend's wife. We ended up trying on different sunglasses and I was caught debating whether to get this pair of humongous Dior shades or not while experimenting with a myriad of angles and double-checking with every mirror available, when suddenly this middle-aged caucasian lady who was talking on her celphone came up to me and said goodbye to whoever she was speaking with, and then old me, "That looks good on you, sweetie." Then she started finding other sunglasses for me to try on. We were even joking that she worked there, but it didn't seem like it. I decided to stick to the first pair that I wanted and she said that it looked good because I have a beautiful face and that it will symbolize a lot of
major changes for me this year. A-huh?
[PAUSE]
Then she held my hand, looked away into space and said, "I'm a psychic. You have a beautiful face, and a beautiful spirit. You are always free-spirited and happy. You have a very nice and positive outlook in life. Sometimes though, you look happier than you truly are, but you are able to pull it off. You also have very strong healing powers, a very strong energy within you and you are good at comforting and healing people. It is a gift. You are at your best in the healthcare or medical field, which you've always been in." And I was shocked because I really have always worked in a health-related field (HMO, hospital, clinic, nutraceuticals), that is, whenever I'm not in school pursuing academic exploits as a teacher or student. I confirmed this with her because there was absolutely no way I could hide the surprise, and so much truth that it came with.
Her next question was, "Are you married?" and I said yes. She said, "Your husband loves you. No doubt that he loves you though sometimes he doesn't know how to express or show it. Sometimes you wish he's more there for you emotionally". Uhrm...
"But this year will be a year of a lot of changes. GOOD CHANGES."
And I asked if there was any chance that I'll be pregnant.
She looked and touched my stomach and remarked that it seems
"blocked" (what...that too? LOL, whoops, did I just say LOL). She said, "There is a baby boy that wants to be inside you. But it's not happening. He wants to be there but something is blocking it." And so I confessed that I had a still birth three years ago, a cute baby boy named Cody. My personal angel now. (Com'on, with all those truths that she started spitting out, I told myself I might as well dance with it, and hopefully find some answers I've been trying to find, like an itch I've been aching to scratch from a skin rash I've been trying to cover up).
Then she put on a serious face and said, "There are a lot of jealous people around you. All these jealousy and negativity. They are jealous of you, who you are, what you are, what you have. Jealous of you. And all these bad energies are getting in the way. We can undo it." She looked in her wallet and handed me a crumpled and worn out business card.
Her last remark was, "It might be
kulam (/koo-lam/)" -- or magic spell, or a curse, but she said it in my mother tongue as if to drive the point home (though she doesn't look like someone who can speak in my vernacular, but if you're an expert in a certain field, of course you'll know what something is called in different terms). And then she left.
I was stunned. And shaken. And it left me feeling as if I was hypnotized for a minute, which also made me panic and worry if I've just given away my social security and all my credit card numbers without me knowing it. But Debbie was there. Unless she was zapped as well. Uh-oh. We seemed fine and unrobbed though. Except for coming out of Saks with a pair of $99. Dior shades for me (snagged quite a good deal anyway), and a pair of Jimmy Choos for Debbie. A-ha! That could be why! Scheming sales people, y'all!
Nonetheless, I still don't know what to make of it. For all we know, she could be guessing. Or tripping. Or just reading what seemed obvious. I could be transparent most of the time anyway, especially if I'm in the peak of an attention-deficit attack. Or do I simply fit a certain predictable mold that she's been seeing through years and years of her part-psychologizing, part-mythologizing practice (I'm not that imbecile not to catch some hints there)? Or could she be trying to pose a threat based on the information I have recklessly supplied as a hasty response to her open-ended suppositions so as to engage me in business, and thus siphon my hard-earned shopping fund from this blogging side job I was just talking about into her personal bank account (and thus farewell, Neiman Marcus Balenciaga Exclusive City Craquele Bois De Rose Motorcycle bag; adieu, new living room curtains; so long, plane ticket back home), just so she could seem to help me find out who these jealous people were -- as if I don't have a clue yet! As if!
For all we know, it could be this earthling who was unceremoniously ditched in favor of
moi, or some life form who experienced the same fate in favor of the
époux. Or both. Two tyrannized hearts (so they think) of the same bitter league, and/or their minions...a highly likely morphic possibility. I can't blame them. But we all must move on and grow. Everything in this world happens for a reason. It's not a cliché for nothing. Oh, unless it is this kiss-toosh back-biting shark of a witch whose presence lurks around us sometimes in family gatherings, she, whose loyalty is worse than any known polygon in the universe. Old news, my sweet. Old news.
Whatever it is, I just want to see the lady as an angel with a message. And for what it's worth, I am taking it upon myself to deflect whatever spell was cast upon me with prayers to God, Jesus Christ my one and only Saviour (and perhaps because it drove me a little barmy, practicing a little residual skill on casting wiccan spells from when I used to dabble with it back in the day wouldn't hurt either, eh?...so be afraid, my sweet, be very afraid!) I'm just kidding...but boohoowahahaha do you hear my *wicked laugh*?
I'll stick to what she said about GOOD CHANGES coming my way. Good changes not just good things. Meaning something promising and different from the current situation. I'm holding my breath for it. Karma. Bad karma for them. Good karma for me. It will all work out well.
God knows what is best.
I have faith in Him.
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