It's not that there hasn't been a lot going on lately. Just nothing blog-worthy. I'm pretty sure that nobody wants to read about grandma's death, my divorce, mom's Big C, or how I almost bought a house from a leader of a Russian sex slave ring.
Almost.
With all that has been going on lately I almost began to feel sorry for myself.
Again, almost.
Until I was reminded the other day, after being asked by my son's friend what that plate was doing with the rest of my "voodoo and witchcraft" that I am a Imox.
According to the Mayan calender, shaman Carlos Barrios, and the forthright man in Zihuatanejo who sold it to me twelve years ago, (along with an array of cheap silver jewelry and a case of Chiclets) my birth date determines my existence.
Being born under this sign provides increased spiritual strength, and energy to manage change along with the power to understand nature's messages in order to plan the next steps in one's life.
Imox are also considered eccentric, reckless, daring, and unusual. They have a strong personality and are intuitive as well as clairvoyant. (I already knew that.)
Imox's purpose in life is to follow the road less traveled. Others will find them strange, and some may even think they are crazy. (I am what I am.)
Imox do not like to deceive. They are lively, productive and creative and like to help their fellow dreamers. But along with the positive come the negative aspects. Apparently Imox are temperamental and prone to exaggeration. They also tend to like to argue. (Although I disagree with that.)
I'm told that Love is what finally settles Imox down and could even take them to the other extreme and make them overly serious. (I seriously hope not.) (Not the Love part, the overly serious part.)
