Monday, April 19, 2010

Psychic Sensations

Have you ever been accused of having a sixth sense? I haven’t. I lack instinct, radar or reliable gut feelings. All I’m left with is what movies and TV have taught me, the wisdom of old people and the often unsolicited advice of family. And Oprah, obviously.

Living without a paranormal skill set has been a constant battle, but somehow I’ve managed to make it through life relatively intact. So it was with some skepticism that I went along to see a psychic over the weekend. Let me clarify that it was a birthday gift from the delightfully well-meaning Fi.

I have been wary of psychics ever since my last (and only) experience when Fi, Livinia and I stopped in on a fortune teller in New York one sangria sodden afternoon. It seemed like a great idea (the woman worked out of a room next door to a fire station where off-duty firemen were lounging), and my friends found it rather fulfilling. Then the psychic told me I had the aura of a serial killer. I’m paraphrasing, and she found a much nicer way to say it, but that was essentially the gist. She also suggested I give her US$100 so she could buy a special candle and pray for me. I explained I was a cash-poor backpacker, and departed quickly. My housemates remain unaware of this episode, lest they get paranoid and put locks on their doors.

Fi assured me this new psychic, my birthday present psychic, was the real deal. Apparently she had great word-of-mouth reviews, and I was clearly “much more at peace” now anyway.

I went, I returned, my world was not rocked. There was a moment afterwards when I convinced myself she may have been on the money (and a moment during when she stated “What are you doing tonight? Whatever you do, don’t go out.”). But then I recalled how much information I found myself giving her to prod her along. She mentioned my grandmother, but I was the one who had to inform her that Nanna had recently passed away… and then just like that, the psychic was talking to Nan. She found out how many siblings I had (from me), so it couldn’t be too hard to assume there’s the occasional tension between us.

I had planned on testing her properly. I had even intended to dress unlike myself, to remove all physical indicators of my character. If I wore something pink, perhaps it wouldn’t be so evident that I wasn’t actually a pink person – thus, by throwing her off the scent she would really have to use her sixth sense to stay on track. Then it seemed like a bit of an effort (and I didn’t actually own anything pink).

In the end, I suspect I made her job much easier. It’s human nature to try and help someone to connect the dots (and to want to momentarily believe that the dots connected themselves).

But all the same, I didn’t go out that night.

Painefull Out

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