The joke is on me

People who know me are aware of my rather interesting relationship with synchronicity and co-incidence.  I know most of the time they kind of laugh it off as me being me.  And I keep trying to explain that it is true.  


Those who were around me during the cyberstalk experience that I had wrote it off as some form of mental break down.  I even discussed it with a psychologist, who assured me it was a figment of an over-active imagination.  I swear to you, it is not.


Take today for example.
On 18th December, in an idle moment of bored curiosity, I stumbled across a post which is offered by The Fun Elf.  I did the test, which is to come up with a meaning for your name.  Here is the result:

Being somewhat sheepish about this, I posted it to my soul sister as a joke.  It was an arbitrary, spur of the moment, whim.


Ok, so last night, I was watering my little veggie patch, and noticed what looked like a black plastic bag lying on the pavement.  This irritates me, as I spend half my life cleaning up the pavement outside my house.  I ignored it and went inside.  Today is rubbish day.  When I went out to put out the rubbish, the black thing was still lying there.  So I picked it up.  Here it is:

I mean, what are the chances of a silly, bored moment materialising in the above form with only a few days in between?  It is not even Halloween, and please tell me how many of you have arbitrarily stumbled over a witches hat on your pavement in the last decade?

How 'co-incidental' is it that I spent Saturday 17th December as described in The magic of memories?

This is NOT FUNNY!  What makes it a million times worse, is that my fortune cookie for today says:

I simply refuse to tell you what my street address is.
So dear friends, when I burble on endlessly about the fact that I seem to be a capricious, freaky whim in the greater meaning of life, don't fob me off as a basket case.


This is an addendum to this blog:
Ok, so my soul sister also took the test, and this is her result:

Whilst giggling happily and laughing over the 'synchronicity' of her American Indian name, and my birth name, we agree that we are both a little nuts, and I make reference to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's nest.  At which point she explains that she is busy listening to it as an audio book.  This movie was produced in 1975 from a book written in 1962.... What are the chances that I would reference it whilst she is reading it?  No wonder I so often say that she and I share a brain.  Which means, of course, that she, like me, is another one of life's capricious, freaky whims... poor soul :).  Life would truly be a Lonely Planet for me without the almost daily share of happy laughter even though we are literally thousands of kilometres apart.