I love that I generated fortune cookie comments in my last post.
So in the spirit of WISHFUL THINKING, I give you the fortune I pulled from a cookie when I was 15 years old. As you can see by the dirt, dust and fuzz, I’ve taped this trifling thing EVERYWHERE over the years: furniture. journals, car dashboards, refrigerator doors, useless math textbooks…
And wouldn’t you know, the goddamn thing has yet to come true.
It taunts me.
PS. Holy moly. It just occurred to me NOW that these lucky numbers might mean something. In all the years I’ve obsessed over this piece of paper, I’ve never given the numbers much thought.
So let’s break ’em down now: Joe’s birthday is Dec. 8. The first time I wrote a book that I was proud of was when I was 11 years old. It was for a school project and it spawned a short series of children’s books about a town in which expressions and idioms come true (ie: “It’s raining cats and dogs”). When I was 24, I quit my newspaper job, moved into a bungalow in downtown Sarasota and attempted, but of course never finished, my first novel. I was 25 when I met Joe. He was 34 when we got married.
And then there’s 38. I have no idea what 38 means.