Mind bereft. Soul uninspired. Situation tenuous.
Here’s something from 2003.
I tend to get very inspirational and New Agey when I drink. Everyone is so beautiful with lots of zippy color lights emanating from their auric beings.
Also? I can get a bit controlling, wanting to orchestrate my surroundings to my liking, perpetuating some goodwill fantasy my fevered brain concocts in the dead of night.
When those two tendencies collide, it makes for an interesting mix of sweatiness, embarrasment, cheesiness, love found, and most importantly, love lost.
This past New Year’s at a friend’s party, where I knew no one, I insisted they all remove their wine charms pronto! because I was going to read their fortunes as symbolized by the dangly silver baubles. Said baubles consisted of a margarita glass, a lemon, cheese slab, corkscrew, baguette, and other stupid ass stuff that no Miss Cleo could read as prophetic, but which I could see right through to their hidden meanings.
I shook the charms in my palm and made each person take one, then show it to me solemnly as I was about to assist in their spiritual unfolding.
At the time, when I told Gene or whatever his name was, that his lemon meant he was a sour puss but the New Year would show him many wondrous delights to awaken his “happy” side, whatever that was, I thought it was the most profound fortune-telling I’d proferred in three cocktail parties. At least.
I completely forget what I told everyone else. God help the person with the cheese slab.
Later, I asked all party participants to write down the one thing they’d like to get rid of in the New Year. Then, I’d read these things aloud and toss them into the fire in a “Burning Bowl”-type ceremony I had decided I should preside over.
Afterward, my flock would write the one thing they wanted to concentrate on for 2003. As before, I read these hopes out loud.
Then in a dramatic flourish, I bounded upstairs and collapsed on the couch in a fuzzy-headed stupor, awakening 7 hours later covered in dog hair, ants crawling up my arm, and Clairol OutLast lipstick clinging tenaciously to one quadrant of my upper lip.
Clearly, a woman in charge of her destiny.
Also, here’s another excerpt from my (unedited) work in progress. It’s like a lame ass bonus.
She sighed with a gust of air forced through her teeth, as if frustrated.
“I’m going down a road I don’t have time for, girls,” Mrs. Lokken said regretfully.
“There’s really so much more to tell you. But for now, please know that my sister has the power. She’s reunited the witches who’ve craved more power than nature gives them. They long ago stopped protecting the Astral boundary, and are now using their abilities for their own gain.”
She talked faster, her eyes darting toward the fire between sentences.
“They were stopped. For good I thought,” she said sadly, her voice beginning to break. She rocked slowly.
“My sister has somehow managed to collect their stones and once they’re reunited with their keepers, I fear what comes next.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If the Astral boundary is once and for all broken, I don’t want to imagine what will happen.”
Annie and Coriander sat, rooted to their seats.
Mrs. Lokken looked kindly at the young girls. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, Annie. Coriander,” she tilted her head toward both of them.
“But your whole world may change. And sooner than you think.”