As millenniums go, this one has not been good to me. Ever since the calendar turned to the year 2000, Iíve been on an extended losing streak.
    It started with the death of my cherished father, and went steadily downhill from there. My business is down, my body is falling apart (three unsuccesful knee operations ) and there are no signs of anything improving soon.
    But it all came to a head the other day, on the Par Three 16th. Iíd hit a gorgeous shot which was majestically zeroing in on the pin when, in mid-air, it inextricably veered off to the right, hit the cart path, and bounded out of bounds.
    My certain birdie had turned into a triple-bogey. And I had enough.
    "Thatís it," I cried. "Iím moving the bed!"
    My golfing partners didnít understand. "What are you talking about? What does moving your bed have to do with your slicing your ball out of bounds."
    "That wasnít a slice," I responded, as calmly as possible. "That was my yin not being balanced with my yang."
    If I was Jack Nicklaus, they might have given me more attention. But Iím not, so I let them believe it was a slice, although I knew it was nothing of the sort. It was clearly the continuation of my bad Feng Shui.
    My wife had brought it to my attention a couple of weeks ago. A friend of hers who was a Feng Shui expert had walked through our house and had been appalled at the position of our bed.
    "Maybe we should move it," my wife had said at the time. "There might be something to it."
    I snorted. I first heard of Feng Shui about four years ago, which was about 5996 years after it was developed. Itís all about the study of the environment, places, people, time, and how the energies of each interact. Proponents believe Feng Shui can help promote prosperity, good health and relationships. But my life had been going along swimmingly without it, until the new millenium, and I doubted moving the bed was going to make much difference.
    Three days later, my wife mentioned that she had talked to her friend again. "Guess whatís in the health corner of our lot?" she asked as she watched me hobble across the kitchen.
    She didnít wait for me to guess. "Thatís right. Our garbage cans."
    I groaned. I wasnít buying it, yet, but I did make a mental note to check if there were any 6000 year old people around. Thinking about it, I concluded Feng Shui wasnít foolproof.
    But over the next couple of weeks, my tune began to change. A little bad luck here, a little more bad luck there, and I slowly began to think that something must be out of whack. My yin, which is the way of the earth, was clearly not in sync with my yang, which is the way of Heaven.
    And all signs pointed to the bed. I was spending up to eight hours a day, 1/3 of my life, lying around in a negative atmosphere. It was no wonder that golf ball had strayed to the right.
    "Weíre moving the bed," I cried when I got home that evening. "It all makes sense. The flow is all wrong. Letís move it right now."
    We waited until morning. I had a restless, fitful last nightís sleep in the Bed of the Wrong Location, but awoke with a renewed optimism. After a couple of hours of rearranging furniture and re-hanging mirrors and pictures, I laid down on the re-positioned bed and immediately felt the charge.
    "I feel it," I exulted. "I feel the positive energy. My knee feels better already. And better yet, my yin is in tune with my yang. Come here and see for yourself."
    She wasnít buying it. Apparently, she thought it would take more than thirty seconds for Feng Shui to turn my life around.
    And she calls herself a believer?

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