Saturday, March 9, 2013


Why is it that big, seemingly momentous events always take place after my therapy sessions?  I suppose that it must be so that I don't do anything rash.  I have twelve days to think on things before I go back to see Cassandra.  The truth is that I don't deal very well with the here-and-now.  Decisions made in the heat of the moment always seem to backfire, and I'm not in a very good spot to deal with that sort of thing.  Rash actions always have unforseen repercussions, and I do not need anything more unforseen or worse, undesired.  Anyway, before I go back, I'm supposed to write something about my dreams for the future.  Ha!  I don't know that I do that anymore.

I used to have what I thought were visions.  I thought I could actually see some events in the future.  The problem was, it was only ever the most mundane of occurrences, and I only experienced the feeling of "deja vu" after the fact.  When I was in the seventh grade, I walked up the my history teacher's desk and caught a coffee cup that was teetering on the edge.  Boing!  There was that feeling, that twinge of otherness.  It didn't come again until I was twenty-one.  Riding up the escalator from the NY subway into the daylight of Manhattan.  Boing!  I can't say that I have felt that sort of cognitive dissonance at any time since.  What's the use of precognition if all one can see is humdrum everyday stuff?