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?