Gideon hasn't stuck anything else in his ear, so I haven't had much to write about. I have two tarot readings to do tonight before I leave town. It was a great promotion, sold over 40 books in one weekend which is pretty awesome. It's also a time-consuming offer, but I'm not complaining. I'm in much better psychic shape now than I was two weeks ago. Here, feel my psychic muscle, go on, feel it. Like an armadillo, I tell ya.
I dreamed that I wrote a psychology book that sold 200 copies in one month--and some of those were hardcover!
I also dreamed about Phil Collins. I hate dreaming about Phil Collins. Cause when I wake up I have to ask "what aspect of myself is like Phil Collins?" Some aspects of ourselves are just too painful to ponder. This was a sweaty, pit-stained Phil Collins. I don't want to integrate my sweaty, pit-stained Phil Collins into my psyche. I think I'll sweep that image right back where it belongs, into my shadow of all things unacknowledged and continue projecting that aspect onto others.
Yes, I think will. You all are sweaty, pit-stained Phil Collins, not me.
I'm Shakira dancing in a glittery vagina-like tunnel.