It seems that the producers of The Heather Show are going to great lengths to taunt me with further proof of their existence. Either that, or they think I’ve been incredibly dense lately and I haven’t been accepting their previously subtle direction. Why do I believe this? Because lately, it seems that everywhere I go, strangers and even inanimate objects are speaking directly to me.

Exhibit A: I was walking out of my local mall, discussing a rather pressing and urgent matter with a close friend. The urgent matter was in regard to another friend of mine, for whom I’ve been deeply concerned as of late. Just as I mentioned the young friend’s name, a woman in a bright pink shirt brushed up against my shoulder. She paused, looked up into my eyes and said, “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

Why is this significant? Well. On that bright pink shirt, there were gigantic black letters that said, “Ditch him.” I didn’t quite like that piece of advice on what to do about my friend in distress, but it seemed rather pointed.

Exhibit B: Last weekend, I went to see ‘The Village’ with Mike and our friend Kyle. After the film, just as we were standing up and I was thinking about how much that movie stunk, the row directly in front of me emptied. That’s normal for a movie theatre and wasn’t all that interesting, but the next row certainly was. Seated directly in front of me, one row between us, was a man. He was leaning forward, revealing the back of his t-shirt, which proudly responded to my negative thoughts with a bright yellow smiley face and – printed quite largely beneath the smile – “Life is Good!”

Exhibit C: The past week has been a really strange mix of ultra highs and super lows. And no, I’m not bipolar – in one week, I’ve launched a super successful book drive for soldiers in Iraq & Afghanistan, but as well as that, I’ve spent four days in the hospital because of what the doctors think is a bad gall bladder. One hand, I’m ecstatic knowing all it took was one update to the Daily Prophet and one blog entry, then BAM, I’ve got nearly 200 books for the soldiers. On the other hand, I’ve gone through some excruciating pain, endless undignified tests, and I’m looking forward to surgery some time in the next two weeks.

Then, today, after a fun day of attending a BMW Driving Event (which I will discuss in greater detail tomorrow, along with posting pictures), Mike and I decided to stop by Glen Echo Park (click for pictures), which used to be a fairground in the crazy Art Deco period of the 1920’s and 30’s. It fell into disrepair, but now that it’s a National Park, a lot of artists and investors are helping out to restore the place.

I love Glen Echo. I first heard about it when I discovered that one of the original columnists from the Daily Prophet lived only a few miles from my house, and he used to work there during the summer, operating the carousel inside the park. The style of Art Deco architecture there just really makes me happy, and there are always cute little kids running around and having a great time. But after about a half an hour of taking photos, I discovered something new – I noticed a walled off section of the park hidden down a pathway, tucked behind a few trees. It had what was probably once a gorgeous double-door entryway to what was called the “Crystal Pool.” I got all excited and trotted down there – even though the doors were falling apart and its windows were broken, ivy spilling over everything, the neon lights had been repaired. They were glowing against the peeling concrete and for some reason this juxtaposition was highly attractive to me.

I snapped photo after photo, until I accidentally zoomed too far. That’s when my eye caught a word within a word and I took the picture posted at the beginning of this entry. That got me to thinking about all the times I’ve cried this week, out of happiness, our of gratitude, out of sympathy, out of physical pain, out of frustration. I realized that this past week, I’ve been such a cry-baby, but I don’t really care. I don’t usually cry this much, but I’ve been on such a roller coaster this past week that I just couldn’t help it. Granted, the physical pain and frustration bit was kind of understandable – you try going for 27 hours without eating, coupled with spending 11 of those hours in a boring, TV-less Emergency Room and getting stabbed right in the nerve by an idiotic nurse who’s trying to start an IV in the wrong spot.

But I digress. 🙂 The past few weeks, the world has been full of signs. They’re everywhere, and they’re being very blunt. In a way I appreciate that, and in other ways, I find it ridiculously funny. I’m on to you producers, you know. I realize that my life is a farce, created in such a manner so as to entertain millions of people out there in the real world. But you want to know what I think of your pretend world sometimes?