Saturn enters Libra

The reality reformation begins.

I’m a peeper. As a kid, I totally snuck over to the Christmas tree when no one was around and carefully pulled back the taped corner to see what was inside. It wasn’t so much the knowing, as it was being in on a secret and ahead of something before it was suppose to happen that thrilled me. In my adult life, that curiosity transferred into an addiction to psychics.

Yes, I get I’m a lazy shit by doing things that way, but I can’t help myself. To think someone can just tell me what’s going to happen and then to let it happen sounds like a dream. After all, wouldn’t it be divine to just know and not have to get out of bed until I had to or wanted to? The idea of instant gratification and feeling prepared thrills me, but the irony is that I suck at going to psychics. As much as I want to believe, I rarely have ever had a reading that really floored me — except a few sporadic ones that happened magically…but I have kept trying nonetheless. My encounters are endless too, shamefully so, but fun, sort of. I’d say the worst one was driving with a friend and getting lost and taking over 5 hours to get to a normally 2 hour away destination after waiting 3 months for an appointment and having to end the reading after 10 minutes because I was TOTALLY getting racially profiled. I have no career in computers, brilliant math skills or crazy conservative parents I felt I had to rebel from. I wasn’t rude, but I wasn’t going to pay for that shit. I left, taking my friend with me; explaining to her that she would of probably been told her that she needs to stop chasing after her baby daddy and to get off welfare.

Another incident I had was after reading a book about mediums; so intrigued, I contacted the author and booked an appointment. I had to wait a few months for a phone reading, but it was going to be amazing, so I didn’t care…so I thought. She was an artist, so her thing was that she drew a portrait of whom she contacted. With a souvenir to boot, I didn’t even care I was going to fork over bigger cash for it, until I got an unimpressive reading and then a week later, a sketch of some random old white dude that in no way could resemble any grandfather in my family tree, no matter how hard you shook the branches. I was respectful of her and what she did despite it all, and sent her an email asking if psychics like doctors just can’t work for everyone and that you’d have to find your match. I also explained very diplomatically that the drawing wasn’t anyone I knew. She didn’t address any of my questions or statements and automatically sent me my money back — which I didn’t even ask for, but was totally happy to get.

Then there was Lily Dale. Two summers ago, a friend that happens to be a psychic told me about this town of spiritualists and that the mediums that practice there have to pass a test to prove his or her abilities. Sounded amazing, signed a friend up with me and then booked a flight to fly two hours north, then drive another hour to get there. Although it was the end of the season, we were able to get an appointment with someone considered one of the best. We were totally psyched. It got even more exciting when my friend who took the appointment before me came back saying unbelievable things — like how the psychic knew details of how she spent her morning!!!! Insane! Of course for me, it wasn’t quite that way.

The life he unfurled for me sounded like nothing I’d ever want, was headed for or even aspired to and it made me irritated at how general it seemed and how he asked questions to get information. Among the worst thing he told me that grated on my nerves was seeing me living in a starter home off the east coast of Florida — and not even Miami, somewhere in the middle. There was no way in hell I’d ever live in a starter home off the east coast of Florida!!! Why???? If I could afford an apartment in Manhattan, why would I choose a starter home in Florida? He then also made a lot of other off predictions, I guess assuming I was just out of college and confused. It aggravated me so; I went back after and asked for my money back. It was a rule of the town, so I enforced it.

Not to say all my experiences were awful. I’ve had totally magical experiences that have happened at the most fated times too. Like just this summer at the beach I met a palm reader that was amazing. He even knew how many homes I had lived in and the tarot readings I got from a friend that foretold a predicament I would be in with two people and how it would go down — even with me swearing up and down it would never happen like that… The most insane of all psychic experiences thou happened on one of my worst days ever, from this girl I barely knew that I wound up talking to at a holiday lunch party I had to go to for a rag I was freelancing for at the time. I was fresh off being blindsided by a break-up I never thought would of happened and couldn’t have been more of a wreck. Plus, the weather was the worst — dark, cold and wet and my vision was so blurry from crying, I don’t even know how I found my way to the restaurant.

As soon as she started talking to me I knew she knew things, from all the crazy things she was saying. After lunch, we went back to my place and for 7 hours she told me things I never thought anyone could know, totally blowing my mind and giving me a direction to be able to move ahead again. It was a miracle. Subsequently, exact time frames and predictions she made were accurate and even details of the past were dead on. It was so freaky; it even crept her out — after all, her job was as an editor, not Miss Cleo. However, not everything said happened and ultimately I chose a different option than what she predicted, but only after making major and possibly too many time-consuming fruitless efforts to keep my “fate.”

As of today, if I had to give a statistic, I would say for every 10 bad readings there is one that stands out, but even so, no one has spelled it out for me. There have been foibles in all readings and all too many false positives. Obviously, the correct comment to make after that is, “Duh, only I can know the real answers, etc., etc.,” but if only it were that simple.

Of course, through sorting it out and seeing the cause and lazy effect on me, I do wonder why I attempt to leave my fate in the hands of strangers so often — especially since I am a bit of a curmudgeon at heart. While parallels with predictions have happened, I get that at best, a psychic only can see a path I can take, but that there are endless possibilities and until I get there, see the situation, feel what I need to feel and do what I have to, nothing is a given…. But how do I stop the control freak in me and realize the uselessness in trying to gauge what lies ahead, so I can zone out in la la land instead? Can reality ever be as exciting as my daydreams in which I never have to take responsibility in? I guess now is the time I’ll be finding out.