Okay, the recipe I created yesterday… I think it needs to be doubled. I made it and only half of it is the creamy solid I envisioned.
In the world of romance, most people fantasize about something. Anything. They daydream the perfect mate, the perfect date, the perfect this, the perfect that.
Then they meet reality, have a pity party that it doesn’t live up to the movie magic in their head, and they give up. It’s not perfect, so why bother?
Believe it or not, I’m there, but not because I’m fantasizing about perfection. If you missed it, I’m “psychic” which is the word I’d use for “sometimes telepathic.” I’ve been listening to my intuition and the whispers from the ethereal world since I was six or seven years old. I’ve also had an incredible life that might make it into book format if my Prince Charming would arrive and help me figure out what is touching and what is boring… and what is plain old abhorring.
Anyway, because of this status as “sometimes a mind reader,” it means I get snippets of ideas from people. The best I can figure out about this is as follows: strong intention + a thought + thinking about a person == I RECEIVE YOUR JUNK. Stop being so careless with your fucking thoughts, people!
I very often hear three ex-lovers and my half-sister in my head. And God, too. God might be a human being, but God doesn’t talk like a human being so it gets a little strange from time to time. “EAT YOUR COFFEE, WOMAN!” Uhh… God, we invented a second word in English for that. It’s called “drink.” You could just use “consume” for both, though. “They’re too long, it’s inefficient,” God replies and uses EAT to indicate everything but water, basically.
Instead of telling me to drink my water, he will literally move my head so I am looking at my water. Sometimes it takes me about five seconds to catch on. My processes are in multitasking mode, so I need a moment. “I wish I was staring into a pair of lovely grey eyes instead.” Well, as much as that’s true, you thought it, not me.
So anyway… this is my life now, being barraged by nasty thoughts, sometimes okay thoughts, and a shy lover boy who hasn’t even worked up the courage to say hello yet… or that’s the fantasy someone is trying to sell me in my head. I really prefer reality because it’s harder to be let down once I establish the parameters of reality… that is, until any infatuation wears off and old asshole habits kick back in and drive me away.
Joe is his name, according to the fantastic in my head. I take it all with a grain of salt because it’s a new name every week, sadly. Nobody stays long, if it’s different people… but mostly it’s just exes trying to keep me away from true happiness: a kind, loving, conscientious man to call my own.
I’m not sure how many of them are out there, especially in the “eligible bachelor” section. However, if this describes you, then I’m interested. Intrigued. Meet me in the spirit world. Or if you’re from around where I live, meet me at the water front.
P.S. I’m not relocating, so be prepared to relocate if you don’t live near me and we actually hit it off. Not trying to be difficult, but this is where my heart is. I left it here a long time ago. In fact, I gave it to a tree.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. REALITY. “But wait, Crystol! Isn’t the spirit world a fantasy?” NO. It isn’t. That’s like saying Hollywood is a fantasy because movies are made there. It really does exist… But are any of the residents real? Now there’s the real question…
Reality is understanding one’s own limitations. Instead of constantly trying to go above and beyond what we as limited beings can do, we strategize for efficiency so we can do everything we want to do. Everything we promise to do. Our word is our bond and if we fail to live up to our word, we are not creating a brand worth talking about, so it’s back to the drawing board.
My drawing board looks a lot like Wile E. Coyote’s right now. Pictures of nonsense jammed together and a road runner fucking it all up randomly. It always has to everyone not me, but it makes perfect sense to me. It’s full of symbols that are shorthand for entire paragraphs of content. But I won’t be explaining it to anyone else anymore. Not without some $$$ involved. A girl’s gotta eat, you know.
And that’s partly where the shy lover boy bullshit gets me. Supposedly, I don’t have to work if I just keep house and put dinner on the table. Does that really work for people anymore? I thought it was a dog eat dog world where we had to back-bite each other until we weren’t starving anymore. I guess it could work for some people. I wouldn’t mind… I’d sit at home all day crafting palatial delight after delight, making things I could sell for a pittance through Etsy, I suppose. I’d never leave the house if I didn’t have to. Unless, of course, Joe wanted to.
But, let’s not focus too much on Joe in particular because just yesterday some asshole tried to convince me he was a red-headed giant of a man and in love with me. Turned out to be fake news, wouldn’t you know? I don’t really care what a person looks like, but I have discovered I am partial to long hair. Do I need it? No, but I can pick a guy who has long hair, maybe. I dunno. I don’t think true love comes in any specific package… it comes with the person who has the right attitude.
So here are all the thoughts I’ve ever had about all the men I’ve seen, in random order, so just enjoy, MEN who need some ego fluffing:
- Pretty [grey | green | brown | blue | hazel] eyes.
- Soft lips.
- Immaculate beard. | That’s a long beard, bro. | Nice five o’ clock shadow. | Wow, you did a great job shaving.
- COOL TATTOO! LEMME STUDY IT FOR AGES PLEASE?!
- Wow, that’s a bold piercing. It looks good on you!
- SILVER FOX. (Give me a Gibbs any day!)
- Wow, you’re tall! | Yay! I don’t have to look up to look into your eyes!
- Oooh, your skin is soft.
- Splendid, you don’t have creepy long nails!
- You have a nice smile, you should use it more often.
- [She simply drools. There is no obvious explanation.]
- Wow, you’re wearing something SHARP!
- Leather? Holy cow. 😉
Is it enough? Don’t feel flattered yet? Then look in the mirror and tell me what you like best about yourself. Is it your smile lines? We all get wrinkles. I wanna be a happy looking grandma type, you know, when I’m super old and crooked. White hair flying all around my face (or maybe hot pink, I wanna be a hip gramma sort, except I don’t want kids. I’ll just make friends who have kids to borrow), lovely smile lines — crow’s feet — around my eyes, deeply etched cheeks from having a lifetime of happiness.
I decided that like a decade ago, so I’ve been working on being happy even when most things are shitty. I got pretty good at it. So good, nobody noticed when I died.
“What on Earth would you borrow children for?” HOLIDAY HYGGE, TYVM. Dyeing Easter eggs, Christmas stuff, Trick Or Treating — the night one can borrow all the children, et cetera. Maybe I am set for having a Bed and Breakfast some day… a house full of strangers to stuff full of delicious baked goods and brunch food.
Hygge is a Danish term, by the way. It means making things cozy and inviting. It means sharing time with each other with the intention of making it a great time. It means sharing memories about great times. Supporting each other the best we can so we can have a great time.
So back to telepathy… I heard a Beach Boys song on the radio today. Any time someone listens to music and thinks about me, as soon as I hear the song, I know what they were thinking. The message was sweet and unexpected, so thank you, Joe. I know you’re out there and your name is probably not Joe. I also know you’re addicted to my reiki healing because you said it makes you feel like you’re walking on clouds. So here, have some more.
Angel-Sansara 