Do you have low Ts?

No this is not an ad for a low testosterone clinic.

Today I went with a friend to a local psychic fair where you will find so-called readers and psychics and Reiki people and those that read dreams and talk to animals.  Every time I go to a psychic fair, I think of my mother.

She was an astrologer for some 40 years with a huge following and people said she was one of the best. I think she was too and so did all my friends. especially when I had her at my Halloween parties giving readings. Consequently, I’m always looking to find an astrologer that might be half as good as she was.

I remember my mother doing those fairs to make extra money and she always told me which psychics were real and which ones were nothing but woo-woo makers that smoked too many funny cigarettes. She always emphasized she was an astrologer not a psychic and that was that.

So today I got to go to one of those psychic fairs with a friend of mine. The first reader we sat down with who did tarot readings just finished dancing flamenco. She was in a long flowing Spanish flamenco dress with eyelashes longer than my pinky.  I think she should have stuck to dancing based on her tarot card reading skills, however. She was all over the place and wanted to talk about her dancing instead of the cards in front of her. Oh well, she was the only open table when we arrived, and we took her. Then she only pulled five cards, and one of them was a dark figure walking away from some gold-cup things. “You’re leaving behind something and walking toward something good,” she said. Yes, this reading I thought. Unless it’s me having left Spain and about to buy a car that won’t kill me. Let’s hope.

So then I got a different reader who was a woman that I gravitated to when I walked in. She was an older woman with jet-black curly hair and candles on her table. She specialized in astrology and graphology, which is the study of handwriting analysis, which I used to dabble in myself at one time. So, she fit the bill; astrology and handwriting analysis together. Score.

It turned out she was quite interesting. She only had 15 minutes and she brought up my chart on a tablet typing in my birth info with her long silver and gold painted nails. She said I had a lot of really good luck things in my chart and the ability to make a good living. Then she warned me:  She said that any man I get involved with I was to be very careful with because the one that I had a long-term relationship with, (which actually was my ex-husband), benefited by taking financially from you. “And I mean taking a lot”. She emphasized looking me straight in the eye with concern.

She was right. That’s exactly what happened during the marriage. He controlled everything and took every dime I made and screwed me good in the divorce too.  So that was an interesting insightful thing to say as I wondered how she figured that out. She then said that If I ever marry again, I should think long and hard about it because the probability of it happening again was very high. She said I was easily vulnerable, too nice for my own good, and being bled to death financially by the male species was like a bad gene, it wasn’t if it would happen, it would always be when. Thanks, I’m depressed now. Knowing deep down she was right I was a magnet for blood-sucking people everywhere I went.

Hmm, time to make someone my financial power of attorney?  Or start dressing like a homeless person and start driving a miniature car that only has room for one person and screams poor. That’s an idea. My financial advisor might agree. Speaking of which I need to check my finances and maybe move them out of his control. Invest in it myself. I felt the hair on my neck stand up.

I just looked at her and could relate to what she said as I feared it myself.  But I agreed and said I’m kind of done anyway, I told her.  I have no interest in men anymore and since my hormones are dead, I have no interest in anything physical either.  Just like every woman everywhere at the age of 60, I’m more interested in going to bed alone with a good book and stretching out on the whole bed. Alone. Because I can.

What’s that song? I can give myself flowers, I can write my name in the sand, I can take myself out to dinner. Yup, alone. Not a bad place to be. And thanks to technological devices I can manage anything else I might need if you know what I mean. But even that is not on my radar either. “See not to worry,” I said, Im not interested. she just smiled with the knowing eyes of another woman that has been there, done that.

So onto the handwriting analyses; She had me copy three lines of the script which sucked as I barely write anything by hand anymore and so my handwriting now looks like the beginnings of a patient with dementia. and I’m a geriatric nurse, this can’t be good.

Despite the shitty handwriting, what she said was quite interesting. She said my handwriting showed that I was emotionally in a lot of different places. No shit Sherlock I just moved back to the US after being in Spain for two years and it’s been a roller coaster of hell interspersed with stress drinking.

She was running out of time, and she just said that there were some things in my handwriting that needed to be corrected immediately. Um like what? My spelling? I joked.

“No not that,” she said.  “You have low T crossings.” am I gonna get hit by a train? is the light at the end of the tunnel a train? wtf? No, she chirped. Apparently its a bad thing for someone like me that gets taken advantage of by the male species and she said “That shit has to stop.” ” Low self-esteem means vulnerability to assholes.”  I sat up straighter when she said that.

Those of you that know anything about handwriting analysis would know that crossing your Ts high is a sign of good self-esteem. Mine apparently is down in the toilet.  So I have “low Ts. ”   and it aint testosterone issues. So low T Crossings along with the shitty posture that makes me look like Im auditioning for the humpback of Notre Dame makes me look pretty pathetic apparently. Now I was really getting depressed.

So she gave me homework. “Cross your Ts high and self-esteem will follow,” she said. Is it really that simple? Yes, she assured me and reached over holding my arm for emphasis. Shit is my mother here? I suddenly wanted to look around. WTF is happening I thought.

So, ok I said. I’m good at tasks. I’m to sit and act like a kid who said a bad word in class and write the letter T and cross it high over and over again for a solid 15 minutes. I must do it every day for 30 days and If I miss a day I’m to start the 30-day clock over.  That’s a shitload of Ts I said.  “Yes, but it will change your T issue” she reiterated. Yes, but will it solve my “pee issue?” she didn’t catch the joke, but I digress. Getting old sucks.

Well then, like a good student my goal is to cross my T’s like she ordered. And I will start today, right after I have a glass of wine.

What does your T’s look like?

I need more notebook paper.

And a posture bra to help me stand up straight

Somewhere in Texas

 6 weeks since returning from Spain