Sunday, August 12, 2012

Some more Hope

I'm still pondering on what hope is and haven't come up with a concrete assessment. Obviously it's not tangible, so it's related to something other than physical reality. A feeling. Sometimes when I look at my flowers blooming in their little pots I feel a sense of something that might be called hope.

18 months ago, I went to see Madam Ruby; Chico Icon & Palm Reader extraordinaire. Madam Ruby is a Chico rite of passage whose words you don't forget unless you're a fool. (who has no hope) Before I moved back to Los Angeles to live with and then marry Brad I of course consulted Madam Ruby. At the end of that reading her advice was "don't trust anyone." (anyone in Los Angeles after I moved there) I thought she must have my palm mixed up with someone else's palm and at the time I sure didn't have a clue why she'd say that. Funny how that worked out.

Anyway, my last Madam Ruby consult was just as mysterious except that now, 12 years later, I'm following her pretty well. Sometimes when I'm fresh out of positive thinking tactics, divine inspiration, and supporting facts, I like to recall Madam Ruby stating calmly "you're going to live through this." She also said I would be doing some writing in the future and then she laughed, leaned forward and gave my hand a little squeeze and said "you got it girl" (I started my other strange but true blog a few months later.) Of course I did ask her whether I'd ever recover my stolen community property and she said "there'll be some money, but don't do it for that reason." She was very adamant about that. So I whined a little and said, well I'd love to do some writing but I'd prefer to do it somewhere other than a park bench, is it going to take very long? yep, a while, she said, get comfortable.  Crap. They say God's timing is perfect, but meanwhile back here on planet earth things were getting a little hazardous.

So now it's 18 hazardous months later. I've lost muscle mass and don't recognize my normally sturdy body. My left arm is swollen, my right arm is emaciated, and my breast is truly an interesting specimen. I need to make sure my drivers license no longer says "donor." seems like I thought that was a good idea some decade past. My friends, acquaintances, and even family are now divided into three camps: those that think I'm insane and don't want to be involved, those that know I'm not and don't want to be involved, and those that know I'm broke, and don't want to be involved.

I hope the brad blog was what I was supposed to write, seemed like the records threw themselves in front of me but it was a lot of information to organize. Don't know what good it might do but felt compelled to write it, and even though it's far from complete and contains more than a couple of references to my fervent desire to see certain people roast in hell and so forth, hey I'm rating it a "pretty good" job.  Hopefully, good enough. Parts of it were written in a laundromat using their free wifi. I have a pic of that laundromat as a memento. Another Chico icon: The Mat.

Hope. That's what Madam Ruby gave me.

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