Every day millions of people check their horscopes. They determine their day by someone else's interpretation of the alignment of the stars. They read those little paragraphs and bend the events of their life to fit accordingly. How can all of us be covered by twelve signs? There must be a helluva lot of people all wandering round doing the same things: "putting off an important choice until I'm quite sure I've got all the facts", or "drawing somebody out on the 3rd to discover what I need to know, but not going too far too fast, or saying too much too soon", and indeed "chasing the dream I hold that is now so nearly in my grasp....". Yep, I've got a busy, if enigmatic month ahead.
For others it the mystery of the tea-leaves - Tasseography. Here you stare at the portentous sedimentry contents of your empty tea cup (or indeed coffee cup. Or rather thrillingly: wine glass) and marvel at what the future holds. If you fancy having a go here are some instructions:
After a cup of tea has been poured, without using a tea strainer, the tea is drunk or poured away. The cup should then be shaken well and any remaining liquid drained off in the saucer. The diviner now looks at the pattern of tea leaves in the cup and allows the imagination to play around the shapes suggested by them. They might look like a letter, a heart shape, or a ring. These shapes are then interpreted intuitively or by means of a fairly standard system of symbolism, such as: snake (enmity or falsehood), spade (good fortune through industry), mountain (journey of hindrance), or house (change, success).
Courtesy of: The Encyclopedia of Occultism & Parapsychology, Fifth Edition, Vol. 2 edited by J. Gordon Melton (via wikipedia)
Simple enough. I don't know why we don't all do it. I remember Mrs Mangle did it quite regularly.
Failing that, you could try seaweed (my Grandad swore by it's weather forcasting properties "just nail a bit to your shed...". And yet he was still watching Michael Fish that fateful October with the rest of us, rather than battening down the hatches.), or the colour of the sky: red sky at night, shepards delight, red sky in the morning shepards warning, minced meat and mashed potatoes shepards pie... hoho.
But for me it's none of these portents of doom or delight. Nope, I spend my life trying to read tongue ulcers. Now, I know these things are related to the UC and/or crohns. There are two patterns to mine: a) always on tongue, never on roof or sides of mouth b) I'm sure they date well beyond my first troubles with UC. I don't know what either of these things mean, but it doesn't matter because the occurence of a new ulcer will now and forever cause the following reaction: a continuing spiral of brain-activity mulling whether the appearance of the ulcer augurs a new episode of bowel fun... ad infinitum, until the bloody thing goes. Aswell as this annoying state of mind, those bobbly-little-bastards are truly the most irritating things on the planet. OK, maybe I exaggerate, but mine are always like little inflammed bobbles (like a bigger version of those little bobbly fella's your tongue is covered with) - well thats how they look in the mirror... Of course, in your mouth it feels like you have a blinkin tennis ball stapled to your tongue. I end up continually poking my tongue out and rubbing it absent mindedly like some kind of tongue-lolling deviant. Still, what could go wrong in a school...?
Anyway, I've been plagued by three of them this week. I haven't had one for a while. Does this mean it's all about to kick-off? I tried to take a picture for the blog, but they were super-blurry and rather disconcerting. So, I tried google-image searching. That was truly disgusting... particularly when I stumbled upon the condition: 'scrotal tongue'.