Think of a questions: Any question at all. Picture it in your mind.
Now pick up a book - something you're reading, a dictionary, any book will do.
Flick through the book (I'm a backwards flicker so I always start at the end, but that's just me.)
Keep the pages moving until you are compelled to stop - let your eyes fall on whatever they are drawn to on the page.
(You can also use an E book... just scroll through with your eyes shut and stop when you feel like it. Use your mouse pointer or finger to randomly select something on the page.)
This is the answer to your question. :)
Of course if you have tarot at your disposal you can pull a card from the pack... but sometimes it's fun to grab a book and just see what it has to tell you.
I tried this with three different books this morning but with the same question.
One was the Websters.
I got 'Fault' - which kinda answered my question.
But when I scrolled and randomly clicked on a copy of Pixelbyte (because that's what's open on my computer right now.) the mouse landed squarely on, "Yeah."
And then I picked up The Snowman by Jo Nesbo (currently reading this) and flicked through... and my finger landed on 'Yes.'
Hmm - not as straight forward as it could be!
So three times with the same question. Two positives and a negative - does that mean two out of three are right? Well, that would be nice, but I doubt it. :)
It's a distraction.
And a fun game to play when you're with friends and the wine is flowing.
See if you can figure out which Byte books these belong too:
“I’m fine.” He rested his arms on his knees and watched his hands shake just a little bit.
“That’s normal, you’ll be okay. Just… just, breathe.”
George smiled. “I’ll get you a glass of water.” He left.
“Is this what life is like for you?” Mark asked. He seemed paler than before.
“Sometimes but less often than you’d think.” Lies, all lies. It’s so normal I don’t know why it ever surprises me. “You sure you’re okay? You’re not going to puke or pass out or anything?”
“Yeah, she’s definitely grandmother material,” I said, then hustled out of arm’s reach.
“Smartass!” he called after me, “Ask Praskovya how he has his coffee.”
Praskovya yelled back, “Black, thank you.”The phone messages lightened my mood. Mac’s mom had become the comic relief in our lives. I felt calmer and less bogged down by the case. I really wanted a cigarette. I satisfied the craving by imagining I’d already had one, created from all the secondhand smoke that poured down the phone and into our answer machine, courtesy of my manic mother-in-law. Excellent. Mac’s mom was transformed into a nicotine fix.
I spun around looking for the origin and saw a kid pointing at us.
Another scream rang out followed by a young girl’s voice. The kid squealed, “Tony!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I bitched at Sam. “Does this shit have to follow us all over the city?”
Lee’s lip curled in a horrified snarl. A guy his size had nowhere to hide and the screaming was coming closer.
“We gotta get him outta here,” I muttered to Sam. Special Agent Ridiculously Good Looking was a liability.
Lee was pissed. He griped, “How am I supposed to do my job with this bullshit happening?”
“Come on,” I said and grabbed his arm. I began searching for a way out without screaming girlies blocking our path. “This way …”
“This is new. Tired of Messenger?”
“Trying something else,” he replied and stepped out of the tub onto the thick floor mat.
“Scaring my child half to death by appearing in the mirror – not smart.”
“Didn’t expect her to be here.”
“That makes two of you. What is it you want?” I could see my reflection and his. Why wasn’t I freaking out? This isn’t a Messenger window. This isn’t a hallucination brought on by a migraine or head injury. Carla saw him.
He didn’t look incorporeal. In fact, apart from being a little thinner than last time I saw him in person, he looked pretty good even for a dead man. Obviously not a zombie, no hunks of putrid flesh hung off his bones and he wasn’t trying to bite me.
Davy was a big guy, tall and solid in appearance. His head sported a dark-colored ball cap. I wouldn’t have been surprised had it been a coonskin cap. A red flannel shirt was peeking out from under the turned-up collar of his sheepskin-lined, brown corduroy jacket. Mac and Davy shook hands and did the man-hug thing. It involved a lot of backslapping. I just bet he had a rifle in his truck. Drizzly rain settled on us, not enough to be wetting but just enough to be annoying. I expended great effort to rid myself of the Ballad of Davy Crockett.
“You might need help with whatever it is that got me out here at zero-two-thirty.” Davy said, then turned to Bob and me. “Good to see ya, Ellie. Bob.”
I smiled at Davy not quite trusting myself to speak yet, for fear of what craziness might pop out of my mouth, along the Davy Crockett path.
Your choices are: