unsure whether it’s a curse or blessing seeing both sides of every situation. It can be either or both. I’ve modified the equation so that everything’s 51-49 to avoid a stalemate. Once my mate goes stale, then I’m out of here. Geminis can have problems making decisions. It can become a way of life, a complete metaphysical system. Everything’s uncertain, indefinite, undefined. Fortunately I’m Gemini on the Taurus cusp, so if I can ever make a decision, then I can usually run with it. On the positive side, Geminis are highly adaptable to a variety of situations. Just making a simple decision for a Gemini can be like getting a bill passed in Congress. Then you’ve got to get the money allocated. If you ever get lonely, at least you’ve always got someone to talk to.
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Wow! There’s flashing lights, police directing traffic, everything. I wonder what’s going on. One look at my wrist answers that question, giving new meaning to the term ‘limp wrist’. Now I remember. I look at my body. Everything seems intact, but I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. It all happened so fast that there wasn’t much I could do to prevent it, but every time I play it back in my mind, it’s in slow motion, up to the moment where I hit the pavement and black out. I saw them there on the side of the road, the thirteen-year-old kid riding a motorcycle with his three-year-old sister on back, just diddling around as though the major highway through the center of their town didn’t even exist. Then they cut right in front of me, why I don’t know; I guess to get to the other side. There wasn’t even time to beep the horn; I just went into a hard swerve to avoid them, thinking that any second they’ll see me and slam on brakes. They didn’t. I almost got past, but not quite. The wheels touched, plopping them to the pavement at ten miles per hour, and slinging my Honda 750 bike approximately sixty yards on a sixty-mile-per-hour Frisbee throw. I went forty yards myself in another direction, ending up in somebody’s front yard. Fortunately the gate was open.
Little by little the village people returned my wallet, my cell phone, everything except my father’s Rolex. This is definitely a Miller moment. I wish I had a cold one right now; I guess I could use a new pelvis, too, but a cell phone will have to do. This might be a good time to call Mom. Thank God for technology. In the operating room six hours later, they pop the Big Question: will that be Visa or Mastercard? The wrist needs re-operating, but I still can’t find the definition of ‘elective surgery’ in my dictionary. The bed-rest left me with a case of nerve damage in the foot that was in traction. Other than that, all’s well that end’s well. Still any way I re-play the tape, the verdict is always the same: I probably couldn’t have pulled out of that swerve even if our wheels hadn’t touched. Without even thinking about it, I died so those kids could live. This is the afterlife. You can never appreciate consciousness so much as when you lose it.
It can give insights to higher knowledge and other worlds, or it can stew you in eternal Hell. I know I’d like to forget some things. Mostly I’d just like to get some sleep. The harder I try, the less I get. It’s one of those things that only come through NOT trying, but by allying oneself with some sort of natural flow. Not that I don’t like those moments of solitude, at least somewhat. Some of my best ideas come at 3am; the trick is getting it on paper so that I’ll remember it later. If sleeplessness would keep you slim and trim, that would make it a deal, but it doesn’t work that way, just the opposite. A little biofeedback on the bathroom scale in the morning can prove that. You’d think that being in your own home would give you the best sleep, but for me it seems to be the opposite. Seems I get my best sleep with a neon ‘Motel’ sign blinking outside, some of my best sex, too, for that matter. Forget the sleeping pills, though. I tried that when I was in traction and only had nightmares, historical nightmares, of armies attacking and refugees fleeing. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, tangled up in covers, and there’s my foot still hanging from the bedpost like a sacrificial limb.