I believe in something I can’t prove, so I maintain an agnostic approach to the paranormal.  I don’t know if ghosts and psychics are real or not.  I’ll go so far as to say “maybe sometimes.”

But my rule of thumb when presented with a psychic or a ghostly experience is skepticism.  Not because I’m a hardened skeptic (I’ll listen with a sympathetic ear), but because many people who bring these things to public attention are in fact wrong.  Skeptic and debunker James Randi has a standing offer of 1 million dollars to anyone who can show him proof of paranormal phenomena.  That offer has been up since 1964 and no one has claimed it.  Thus, when presented with paranormal phenomena, my gut reaction is “Tread carefully, I’m being conned.”

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I had a great dream.  I was in a store with an allowance of $1,000 a month and I got to buy whatever clothing I wanted regardless of price.

I haven’t bought any new clothing in three years.  I still wear things my mom got me in high school.  In fact, 98% of the clothing I own?  It’s stuff my mom bought me.

My husband’s closet is worse than mine, because he only ever shopped at Goodwill in college.  His nicest shirts are (guess what?) shirts my mom bought him.

If I had an extra thousand dollars a month, you know what I’d do?

Invest it.

>_>

Ummm… Yeah.

When I eventually get a book published, this is how it’s gonna go down:

1. 10% to tithes (probably split up between charity and church).
2. 15% set aside for taxes.
3. Pay off student loans.
4. Invest.
5. Clothes shopping to replace worn-out items for both me and husband.

I pray to God that we can get to #5.  I have 10 pairs of pants and none of them fit quite right.  It’s painful.

My American History teacher in high school was awesome.  She was also in charge of Quiz Bowl, which I was part of more to spend time with friends than compete (oddly, I went to State to fill out our team because most of our hardcore players had chosen to do the state science fair instead).

So she had these Quiz Bowl buzzers in her classroom that she pulled out twice during American History to review for tests.  She split us into teams, grouped our desks together, and anyone who knew the answer could buzz in for their team.

The first time we did this, about halfway through, I gave a wrong answer.  I was on a team with Chip Girl and a boy who always seemed to be stressed out.  (They belonged to the intellectual group, whereas I belonged to the group that was too weird to hang with the intellectuals and too intellectual to hang with the freaks.  From what I could tell, my group was a lot more laid-back than theirs.)

In the test review, when I gave my wrong answer, the boy turned his head away and muttered “I knew that one” in frustration to the person on his other side.

I stared at the fake wood top of my desk and stopped giving answers.

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In Stan, we saw wisdom.  In Linda, strength.

In Bibi, laughter.  In Dave, warmth.

In Tate, enthusiasm; in Margaret, generosity; in Sean, playfulness.  In Bill, gentleness; in the Fortunatos, understanding; in Melissa, sweetness; in Sarah, confidence; in Jag, perception; in Chett, benevolence; in the Finns, kindness; in the Swinehearts, hospitality.

In all, love.

Do you ever remember stuff that makes you feel stupid?  Embarrassing moments, in particular?  Something you said that may have been taken the wrong way?  Laughing at something that you failed to realize until afterward was serious?

I remember that kind of thing waaaay too much.  It might sound weird, but punching one hand into my palm so hard it hurts helps me stop mid-dwell.  I punch my hand, switch to a new train of thought, and focus on only that new train of thought.

Whatever works, right?