Dear Ms. Psychic,
I’ve had it. A few weeks ago you wrote that I would have ridiculous travel delays for the next three weeks. And unfortunately you must be in cahoots with the Man Upstairs, because for whatever reason, you CONTINUE to be right. Will you stop already? Can’t we just go back to the days of three-sentence fluffy horoscopes that have absolutely no connection with anything whatsoever, except for serving as a break from my normal routine?
I am convinced that you have cursed by logistical existence. Right now it’s 10:48 p.m. FDT (farm daylight time), and I still haven’t received my suitcase from United. I arrived at O’Hare over an hour before my flight, and yet my suitcase (which I checked because I was carrying my guitar on board) didn’t manage to make it onto the flight. When I arrived in Wichita, I got dizzy watching that silly baggage claim go round and round, then finally shuffled over to the ticket counter with 12 of my co-passengers to file a claim.
The United automated system still drones that a courier was supposed to be in touch with me to deliver my bag by 8 p.m.
As a result I was FORCED to stick around Wichita and eat loads of (my favorite dish) #45 at Saigon to drown my sorrows. Then I had to purchase a (fantastic) dress at Aspen Traders so that I will not be naked in church tomorrow. And of course I had to buy a (really cute) outfit at Harolds, so that I will not be naked when I visit my friends, should the bag not show up for several days.
And to top it all off, I broke the 6th string of my guitar while trying to tune it up. Sheesh.
Let’s call a truce. You go back to consulting your Alzheimers-stricken mother for horoscope fodder, and I’ll continue to consult you daily.
Regards,
Nelly
















































