Parallel lines

Over 20 years ago, I was coming off the tail end of one of those roller-coaster love messes, and I’d tearfully confided in my lunch buddy at work. He confided something in return. Despite being a family guy, church deacon, regular kind of guy from a wealthy Main Line family, he’d been psychic all his life and saw auras — and even his wife didn’t know.

“Really?” I said. He told me his wife was very religious, it was a bad idea. Huh.

Anyway, I asked him if it was really over. He got up and closed the door, sat down and closed his eyes. Finally, he said my aura was indigo blue, and that was good. It told him that I was operating from a high plane.

“And?” I prompted.

“I can’t see it ever changing. You’ve learned what you were supposed to learn, but you’re two parallel lines. I see you drawing near and pulling back, but the lines never really meet.”

“Oh.” (At that point, remember, I’d never even heard this Todd song.)

Anyway, maybe 15 years later, I was working downtown and stopped at the Reading Terminal Market to get lunch. I saw my former co-worker and went over to say hello. “Do you remember that time you told me about the guy I’d been seeing?” I said.

“I’m not sure,” he said. I reminded him about the parallel lines.

“Oh yeah. So what happened?”

I beamed. “You were so right,” I said. “It never worked out. And I’m happy.”

Very soon I’ll have to
Face the fact
Some things never come together
Parallel lines running on forever
And you can’t turn back
There is never any starting over
Parallel lines never do cross over.


White rabbit

Decades ago, a friend asked if he could plant his pot plants in the backyard of the tiny city house I was renting with my boyfriend. (He said I could have half the crop.) I said sure. So he planted them, and they grew, bigger and bigger. They were the size of small trees when I finally hacked them down and dried them out in my attic.

Now, I didn’t smoke pot, I really had no idea what to do with all this. (We didn’t have the internet yet.) So I put the leaves in my blender (blew out the motor), and then I picked out all the stems and seeds — because who wanted those? It didn’t seem fair to charge for them.

When it was all done, I had close to seven pounds of perfectly clean grass.

There was a pot drought at the time, and wake-and-bake types across America were jones-ing. My friend Kate knew someone who was looking, and asked if this guy Bob who was visiting from the coast could come over to try some.

Now, the pot was bright green (because it was so fresh), so I told him someone just brought it in from Columbia. He inhaled deeply, saying, “You know, I could probably even tell you what square mile of Columbia this is from.”

“Wow,” I said. (Everyone said “wow” a lot in those days.)

So he bought an ounce, and headed back to San Francisco, where, as it turns out, his job was as a go-fer for the Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead. (He’s mentioned on the Airplane’s “After Bathing At Baxter’s” LP.) So he calls me and says “Jerry” loved it and wants three pounds. We settle on a price, he flies out, picks it up and heads back to the coast. (I used the proceeds to buy us a couple of ten-speed bikes.)

And that’s how I got Jerry Garcia high. Yes, it’s all my fault. Sorry.

Car purgatory

By: Mike Mozart

I haven’t gotten my car fixed, because I just couldn’t bring myself to spend another thousand bucks on this black hole of a car. My ex-BIL offered me an old Honda Accord, and I’m going to take the money you all donated and pay for the parts (he probably won’t get to it before April).

So instead of the new horn ring, the mechanic rigged up an alternative horn. Since he put that in, the car battery keeps going dead. (It’s only two years old.) In fact, it happened again yesterday, right when I was leaving to go get my first covid shot.

Which is how I took my first Uber ride. I now understand the appeal — I live a half-mile away from the largest cab service in the city, and it takes me up to an hour to get a cab. Uber? Five minutes.

So now I have to call AAA again, get it charged, and drive it directly to the mechanic. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

Incubating at Christmas

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

I’ve had a lot of things percolating inside me this year: Cancer, covid, despair. Doubt in fellow humans. And most of it is still incubating — it needs more time in the cooker before I can find the right words.

But we did make it through this year. God, it was a shitty one, wasn’t it? If Biden didn’t win this election, I would probably have made my way to some other English-speaking land and taken up drinking. (I really hate drinking, so I’m glad that worked out.)

Presently, I have a dead microwave sitting in my living room instead of a Christmas tree. It’s one of those involved stories; when I ordered its replacement, it wasn’t supposed to be delivered until Saturday. Which was fine, I had nothing else planned for the weekend.

Instead, they dropped it off Tuesday, in a giant box. On my front steps, and it was starting to rain. So I wrestled it up the steps and into the foyer, and from there, up the steps to my apartment.

As you can imagine, it sort of destroyed my back. This being Christmas, I had all kinds of last minute projects to complete. My neck, my knees, and my hip are still sore, despite massage and copious amounts of arnica gel. Hopefully, I will figure out some way to get the old nuke out onto the sidewalk for trash day.

You might have noticed that some days, I simply forget to post. (Sorry.) Most of my energy right now goes toward a project I started, and it’s beginning to take off, but comes with a lot of other challenges, like dealing with taxes I had no idea even existed.

So I’m tired. It feels like I never stop working.

And that’s life these days: One little problem after another, punctuated by the occasional big one. The current Jupiter-Saturn conjunction is supposed to be a time for changes:

At the conjunction a new commitment is formed. We start putting energy into a project. We develop certitude that this is what we are going to do with our lives, and that this is what we hope to achieve. At the opening Jupiter-Saturn square we are asked to take some decisive step toward actualizing the purpose and commitment formed at the conjunction.

Christ, I hope so. Merry Christmas! God bless us, every one.

Down time

As you know, I’ve been having some problems with my vision. So I could put more distance between my eyes and the monitor, I made some changes here at Guerrilla Central. I ordered a stand for my desk and it came yesterday, so I started organizing and moving everything around while watching yesterday’s election coverage. Looks pretty good, but only because you can’t see all the stuff that fell off the desk when I moved the printer!

And the stands started to slide around on the desk, so I ordered some Velcro to keep them in place. Hopefully I can avoid at least some migraines!

Doctor my eyes

Photo by Amanda Dalbjörn on Unsplash

I’m cutting back this week because all of a sudden, sitting before any kind of screen brings on a migraine aura (which, as you can imagine, is pretty unpleasant). I knew something was off the other day when I experienced the migraine prodrome for a couple of hours, took a nap, and it was still there when I woke up.

I’ve already done all the screen adjustments, so at this point, I probably need to see an opthamologist, maybe a neurologist — I don’t know. (Good luck getting an appointment, right?)

So I’ll do what I can, but I won’t be doing as much.

Dr. heart man

Photo by Abby Anaday on Unsplash

I went to see my cardiologist yesterday, because my blood pressure was ungodly high –in stroke territory, even — a couple of weeks ago. He wondered if it was some kind of fluke, because I don’t actually have high blood pressure. (He also wanted to check that my home BP cuff was giving accurate readings. It was.)

“And you weren’t stressed out when it happened? Nothing unusual going on?” he said.

“Nope,” I said. I told him I didn’t even know you could get numbers that high. I’m typically a 110/71 kind of gal.

We discussed whether the covid could be responsible, but of course no one knows. He’s sending me for a stress test next week, just in case.

Ah, covid. The gift that keeps on giving…

Thanks to all of you

Photo by Jeremy Zero on Unsplash

We’re now on week 5 of our hellish heat wave, and you’ll never guess: My bedroom air conditioner has bit the dirt! It is, as they say, a former parrot.

I’m very grateful, because this is the month I also have to pay my tax person and my electric bill is going to be scary high from the heat wave. Your donations make it possible to deal with the AC that without crippling anxiety.

WEATHER UPDATE: We’ve started getting the bad weather from Isaias, and even though it’s not even 9 a.m. yet, we already had a tornado warning. We’re under a tornado watch until tonight. Ugh. Stay safe if you’re in the path.

Trying to cool off

Photo by Olav Tvedt on Unsplash

My A/C is now struggling to cool the car in this never-ending heat wave. I went to an auto parts store, and the only kit they had WAS $50!!!! (However, there’s a $20 rebate. God knows how long it’ll take to get processed.)

So tomorrow, I’m going to take a shot at doing it myself. Anyone have any words of wisdom for me?