This time there was no jiggetty-jig with home again.

You would think a psychic might look ahead at these things, but you would be very, very wrong.

I came out of the psychic fair tour in the freaking hole. That is to say, I would have to claw my way out of the hole to be actually broke. I owe money to the promoters.

There were a number of factors that contributed to my sad state of affairs, none of which I blame on the promoters. I was not selling myself. I preferred to wait for the people who could be helped by me to find me.

Altruistic? Or double dawg dumb? You decide.

Most who came for a reading made a beeline to the one that had read them last year. That wouldn’t be me.

And all the rain? The three weeks straight of almighty rain? It stopped on the weekends. So those who had been cooped up all week had no further inclination to spend time indoors, which is where we would have been. Oy.

I made the mistake of travelling without my neti pot. Big mistake. Sinus infection mistake. Left me coughing up nasties into tissues and working at half my usual steam. I found it hard to do the deep breathing necessary to acheive a satisfactory altered state. I had to turn some people away because I could not connect properly with them. It was either that, or have them bad mouth me. Damage control.

Luckily, there is food in the freezer because Ass Burger Boy doesn’t like to prepare anything more complicated than burgers and Kraft Dinner.

To top it off, I ran out of my anti-anxiety meds while I was away. So, for the last week I was away, I had a horrible feeling of dread lodge in my tummy.

Then I find that my mailing list has exploded with hurt feelings and angry messages in my absence.

So, if you’ve been wondering why I haven’t posted regularly, there have been a few shitstorms to deal with. And you cannot deal with a shitstorm while you are curled in a ball.

I’m feeling somewhat better now.

I think my psychic fair tour days may be over.