I’m teaching a workshop at a state conference tomorrow morning. People are coming (hopefully) to listen to me talk for an hour about grants and grant writing.
• I have my handouts.
• I have my red shoes from under my desk.
• I have a stack of business cards.
• I have the agenda and room details.
• I have my notepad and pen.
What am I forgetting? Should I bring candy in to bribe people into asking questions during q&a? (Please make them ask questions during the q&a.)
My stress level at work is so high today that being trapped in my cube for three minutes while the janitor emptied the trash cans almost sent me into a panic attack.
Two weird shadow shots from Sunday night’s Ganzfeld experiment. In the first, the shadow of my raised hand seems to have grown extra fingers, claw-y ones at that. In the second, the shadow by my shoulder (source yet to be determined) has sprouted two 8bit hearts.
I’m fairly certain this Venn diagram is accurate.
Blue: People who are hysterically panicking about Ebola on Facebook.
Red: People who didn’t vaccinate their kids because Jenny McCarthy said not to.
Remember: “Ebola spreads by direct contact with infected body fluids. Ebola does NOT spread through the air like flu”(1), so, wash your hands and stop licking strangers. (2)
(2) not cdc.gov. Good advice, though.
Loudest. EVP. Ever.
"…caught in the daylight" is probably us.
“I’m kind of partial to this hammer” is definitely us.
Everything else….totally NOT us.
The “I left you in June” is a good but normal EVP volume. That voice saying, “Whenever somebody calls home…” is not from any of the four people in the building at the time, and actually drowns out the person who was talking.
[19SEPT2014 private location near Kokomo, IN]
The red spotlight during Ganzfeld makes my hair look like Kat’s. I like it.
If you follow me at night into haunted woods and after some time I tell you we are not welcome to go any further, that we need to go back, listen to me. When you insist on continuing on anyway and the path twists and turns and takes us into places we’ve never seen before leading us right back to the clearing where we started, and you wonder aloud how that happened, I will voice the answer I am hearing: “I told you so.”
When you then insist on trying the other path after I told you we’re done for the night, the forest says we’re done for the night, I will follow you down that path, apologizing silently for our intrusion. I’m not going to try to change your mind—what’s out there is perfectly capable of taking care of itself. And when the yips and howls of approaching coyotes chase you all back up the path and out of the woods, the forest and I will both be laughing, though mine is the only laugh you’ll hear.
Think hard—did you hear the sounds of animals in the dense woods behind you? Twigs snapping, brush rustling, the quick footsteps? No. No movements except yours. Nothing in pursuit but the voices.
He’s a trickster, that Coyote.
I told you so.
If you are so freaked out by being in a haunted location that you need company in the lighted indoor bathroom, expect to be broken of that need by the end of investigating with me. Because…no.
I can now sit in both chairs in my bedroom. Two pieces of art are hung. There is nothing on the floor but the furniture. The closet shelves aren’t completely finished, but they’re getting there. The window is open and the crickets are chirping.
Depression is a paralytic. Spending three hours cleaning and sorting tonight is a good sign. Goofy faces afterwards were a necessity.
Bonus: between my shirt and the pillow, I look like a giant ear of corn.