the fortuneteller said...

...if I took a job, I would have three months with no creative activity. Well, I've had nearly two, and am just sure I can make it to the end of May.

Jobs aren't so bad. Sure, there's the feeling of being trapped, owned, and stuck. But there's also appreciation (I won a $25 award today. Who-hoo!) and, ostensibly, team-building. I could do well at Sun, taking online workshops and learning new skills, like diplomacy. And tact, my boyfriend Alex points out. But I'm not going to hold my breath. One thing I'm sure of: change comes slowly.

My parents were in Phoenix, AZ this past weekend. My dad was golfing with my brothers and my mom was spa-ing and chatting with my sister-in-law. I caught her on her cell phone the day she flew in. (She vowed it was her last plane trip, due to the intensive scrutiny her fake knees attract with airport security.) She was excited. "Oh," she tells me on the phone. "I just saw my first seguaro." It was not, I pointed out, her first big cactus. It was just her first one that trip. Without arms, she said, those are the oldest.

I met the fortuneteller at a party thrown by someone I didn't even know. He was a psychiatrist my friend Loretta met online. This was many months ago, Halloween, in fact, 2004. Anyway, she wasn't interested, so she passed him to me. He played in a band, had a swell sense of humour, and seemed like a good egg. So when he invited us both to his party, we accepted. It was wild. There were maybe 300 people there, in a giant house of four floors and no furniture. He'd moved it all out for the party. The band played, there was dancing. In between sets, there were firejugglers and yes, there was a fortuneteller. "She" seemed tired but read me straight, job opportunity and all. Of course, it wasn't the job I ended up taking, but I figure the same holds true, no matter which company I end up at. Maybe I can shave a few weeks off and take a knitting glass next month.

What happened with the guy? He smiled at me, walked over, and the closer he got, well, the shorter he got. I hadn't read the ad very closely and, to make matters worse, I'd worn heels. I was the Devil in the Blue Dress, an emblem of strained race relations in the 20s, says my brainy friend Roger. (Or maybe he's just seen the movie.) I guess tht made me a real tall glass of water.

It was a strange night. The police came and wandered from room to room while our shirking host evaded them. I broke into the pantry with some folks and watched a man pour olive oil into cups for us, thinking it was wine. But the fortuneteller stayed with me. And so far, her predictions have come true. Maybe I should do something about that. Ceramics, perhaps?