At the start of the day I thought I knew what today's "Note From The Universe" meant and I laughed out loud at its perfect timing and choice of words.
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However, at the end of this day, I am less certain what it means than when the day started.
But it is Friday the 13th and perhaps it's time to think some entirely new thoughts.
The Universe is looking out for me. I just need to keep listening.
I've been having a few health issues lately. Nothing serious I suspect, but enough to seek medical attention. I had an appointment last week with some lab tests, another one today and another tomorrow. Three different doctors in the same (giant) medical group, a medical group with a good reputation. But as far as I can tell they don't deserve it. Tomorrow will tell with the third doctor, a specialist, but the first two doctors I've seen have seemed rushed, disengaged and generally on auto-pilot. Like the pilots who missed the airport at Minneapolis/St. Paul International.
Today's doc wrote me a prescription for an anti-inflammatory when I told her I was taking 2-4 Advil per day for joint pain. I asked her why it would be better to take the prescribed meds than what I was doing. Her answer was something about it being more convenient for me to just take one pill that lasted all day. Convenience wasn't an issue for me, but uh...okay.
I filled the prescription at the pharmacy, but before taking anything, I do what I always do, read the warning label. Whoa, this was some powerful stuff! After reading what Walgreen's had to say about it, I went to the Internet for more. On WebMd there was a big warning at the top of the page, not in the fine print.
This drug may infrequently cause serious (rarely fatal) bleeding from the stomach or intestines. Also, related drugs rarely have caused blood clots to form, resulting in heart attacks and strokes. This medication might also rarely cause similar problems. Talk to your doctor or pharmacist about the benefits and risks of treatment, as well as other possible medication choices.
If you notice any of the following rare but very serious side effects, stop taking and seek immediate medical attention: black stools, persistent stomach/abdominal pain, vomit that looks like coffee grounds, chest pain, weakness on one side of the body, sudden vision changes, slurred speech.
On other sites there were more reasons to suspect that this was
probably not the drug for me. I'm not sure what she was thinking or if
she was thinking actually.
I'll just stick with the morning dose of two Advil. And see what the doctor tomorrow has to say, assuming I can get more than 15 minutes of his time and undivided attention.
I don't, or didn't, watch "Jon and Kate Plus 8" and I don't care for Nancy Grace one little bit.
Yet, because I am addicted to celebrity gossip pop culture, I am familiar with the lives, dramas and personalities of all kinds of people who I have no business knowing about.
I know Kate had a tummy tuck, got a weird hair do and later changed it. I know that Jon thinks he's a celebrity and is really just a dumb ass man in Ed Hardy t-shirts going through some pathetic midlife crisis in public. I know that Nancy Grace is obnoxious, overly judgmental and incessantly ranting at the guests on her show. I think I've seen her a few times on TV for all of about 90 seconds before I have to flip the channel.
And yet, when I see this clip of her grilling Jon Gosselin and his stuttering deer-in-the-headlights look, I can't help but like her just a little bit.
A Buddhist teacher I follow on Facebook posted this today and I watched it three times, tears of laughter streaming down my face each time.
There's just something about juxtaposing this old Laurel & Hardy clip with the Gap Band that cracks me up. But then again, I've been known to giggle at the silliest things.
Enjoy!
Apparently it's the first chocolate the Dalai Lama ever tasted.
It is the founder's intention to "reintroduce the ancient wisdom of embedding conscious intention and love into food."
All Our Chocolate is Embedded With This Intention:
“Whoever consumes this chocolate will manifest optimal health and functioning at physical, emotional and mental levels, and in particular will enjoy an increased sense of energy, vigor and well-being for the benefit of all beings.”
My doctor-ish friend Mark probably won't like the "science" of this I'm sure, but I'm rather impressed with the marketing science. They added me on Twitter today and the next thing you know I'm reading their blog, watching videos like the one below and going to their website to order some chocolate.
Mindfully of course.
This is like a moving mandala.
The 80s, the 90s, today; some things never change. Like how fun dating can be. Umm..yeah, right.
I'm just glad that mustaches went out of style with the mullet.
Thanks to Dating LA for posting this.
A repost...
The Network
I perched on the edge of a gilt chair as I sipped my tea and prayed I wouldn’t dump it all over my faux-Chanel suit. I was not prepared for the luxury of Augusta Elton’s office; with its tasteful antiques and exquisite art, I could hardly believe I was in a generic suburban office park. I was impressed, certainly, but at the same time I could not help but think that the luxury of the office was meant to throw a visitor off-balance. Negotiating the thick carpets was like walking on sand in high heels. Ten years in corporate life should have given me enough self-confidence to handle the situation, but in that office I was again a rookie straight out of b-school, the ink still wet on my M.B.A.
My companions seemed to suffer no such compunctions. Lucy Steele, who had been in my orientation class, smoothed the skirt of her suit, which was not faux-Chanel but the real thing. I had long ago stopped wondering how she could afford designer clothes on a middle management salary. Lucy used men like a spider used her victims, sucking out the juices and discarding the empty shells.
Mary Crawford, Ms. Elton’s most prominent protégée, had the honor of pouring the tea. Mary was soignée as always, her dark hair gathered into a knot at the base of her neck and her suit simultaneously businesslike and feminine. Her ladylike appearance belied an avaricious personality. She stole glory and boyfriends with equal avidity, always with a smile that put every man in her thrall even while she cut his legs out from under him.
Mary passed me a plate of cucumber sandwiches and said, “Isabella, is this your first tea?”
Since she asked just as I was taking a bite of my sandwich–Mary made an art form out of putting one at a disadvantage–I nodded.
“Augusta holds these teas for the women in management,” Mary explained to me with the air of addressing a dimwitted toddler. “We take every opportunity to network.”
“Indeed,” said Augusta. “I consider it my duty to pass on the lessons I’ve learned during my career. I pride myself that I have not yet hit the glass ceiling.”
If half the rumors were true of the dirty tricks she had played, “pride” was a strange word to use, but I was not going to say so aloud.
“I asked you all here,” continued Augusta, “because I believe I shall shortly be promoted to vice president. I have proven myself to the Board. They can make no other decision.” Rumor had it that a vice president had quit the previous week amidst rumors of scandal, and it was said that Augusta had engineered it. “That will leave an opening in senior management,” she continued, “and I have decided that one of you will fill that position. I will base my decision on the principles that have guided my own career: strong management skills and a ladylike demeanor.” She smiled at Mary, who blushed. It was pretty clear where Augusta’s decision would be. Mary was a carbon copy of Augusta from perfectly groomed head to Italian-shod feet, absolutely ruthless and resolutely chic.
There was a discreet knock on the door, and Augusta’s assistant entered the room with an elaborately wrapped box. “This just arrived, with a note from Mr. Elliot,” she whispered.
Mr. Elliot was the CEO, so naturally the box received immediate attention. Augusta read the note to herself, then aloud. “‘Something for your tea party, ladies; please enjoy.’ What a perfectly charming man!” She pulled off the glittering ribbon and opened the box. Nestled on gold material were four perfect fortune cookies.
Augusta took one of the cookies, cracked it, and pulled out the fortune. She frowned and said, “I declare, this is the oddest fortune I’ve ever seen. ‘What goes around comes around.’”
If that were true, then Augusta Elton was due for a truly monumental fall from grace.
“How strange of William to send me such a thing,” said Augusta, her hands working anxiously at her collar.
Mary cracked her cookie, read her fortune, and turned pale.
“What does it say?” asked Lucy urgently.
Mary whispered, “As you sow, so shall you reap.”
Augusta gasped. “That’s perfectly horrible,” she hissed. Mary sat quietly trembling.
Lucy read her fortune, and burst into tears.
“Read it,” said Augusta. “Read it, damn you!”
Lucy shook her head, and Mary snatched the fortune out of her hands. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Lucy covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
I looked at my cookie, still nestled in its golden nest. The three women turned to stare at me as I reached for it.
—————–
A few minutes after four o’clock, an e-mail went out to everyone in the company: Augusta Elton and Mary Crawford had resigned to “pursue other opportunities.” Lucy Steele was seen in the parking lot carrying a box and accompanied by an imposing security guard.
——————
Jane swallowed the last of her Cosmopolitan and waved to the bartender for another. “You made that up,” she accused me.
“My right hand to God. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen; those cold-blooded women freaking out over a fortune cookie.”
“So what did yours say?”
“‘To the victor go the spoils.’”
Jane stared at me for a long moment; then she grinned and held up her glass for a toast. “Congratulations, Ms. Vice President!”
I clinked my glass against hers and sipped, accepting her congratulations as my due. Those custom fortune cookies had been expensive, but they were the best investment I’d ever made.
Thee End.
P.S. Someday I will start blogging again. :-)
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be cleaning you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
Because each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.
-Rumi
