I went to a psychic recently for a mediumship reading. Yes, I know that's a wacky thing to do, but it was fun and eerily accurate. The outing was my birthday present to my daughter and we went together. We figured we knew all the same dead people, so why pay for separate readings?
Many years ago, my friends and I would attend a few Spiritualist Church camp's Wednesday night readings each summer to hear what we could hear. We tried to be respectful of religious aspect of the service, but I'm afraid we were a naughty bunch of heathens looking for a good time. Still, there was always "something" said or revealed that was close enough to truth that it brought us back.
One summer night, the poet Diane Ackerman was there with a posse of loud and confident women. I heard one describe the evening as a field trip. That was how it was for my gang, too. A field trip. This is where I should include that smiley face emoji with a clenched toothed smile. 😬
I'm a staunch agnostic, so I am never convinced it is real, but I am also never convinced it isn't. I take what I can get, and I enjoy the process. When the psychic is faking or trying too hard to convince me, I smile (a little too hard) and ignore the BS. When s/he is spot on, I get big eyes and know I won't be able to sleep that night. There is usually some spine tingling accuracy thrown in to justify the payment.
I dislike talking on a phone. My working years were filled with jobs where I had to use a phone on a regular basis. I adjusted, I endured, but I never got over my aversion to picking up that "thing" when it screams noise at me and I do not know who is on the other end.
The worst is actually initiating a call. I really have to force myself to do that. Left to my own devices, I won't.
We had a landline the first 2 years we retired; however, Central Florida is a wild and woolly place. The number of strange calls one receives on a landline during the day is alarming. Especially when the bad guys figure out you are retired. They want your money, and they are willing to nag and negotiate all day, every day, to trick you out of it. Even if I didn't pick up, I could still hear the rings and messages. I finally blew up and had it disconnected.
Now I use my cell phone. I hate talking on that even more than a landline because I figure it will give me a brain tumor. Plus, you can't tuck a smartphone between your ear and shoulder to talk. You have to hold it, and you have to hold it for a long time. Consequently, you are complicit in giving yourself a brain tumor.
Actually, I rarely answer my phone or check my messages. Dodging a phone call is both liberating and delightfully perverse. Good times!
I am happy to make arrangements to chat with loved ones. Family and friends have learned to text me first to let me know when they will call. With advance warning I WILL pick up the phone, although I have to find it first.
