So, for the second time in my adult life, I had a metaphysical experience regarding clairvoyant visions and movie quotes. I will tell both stories but let me explain a little about myself first: concerning the paranormal, I don’t have a psychic-sensitive bone in my body. My team calls me the “ghost repellant” as nothing from the other side wants to have anything to do with me most of time, children and animals representing the majority of my personal experiences on cases.
I do, however, consider myself to be a spiritually passionate person. I meditate to clear my head, prepare for my day/week, and wind down at the end of the day (still takes 100 mg of Seroquel to put me down for the count) but that’s neither here nor there. We are here to discuss psychic visions and how they apply to everyday life (which is not at all; I apparently am only psychic when absolutely nothing important is at stake and I am completely alone, without a witness to collaborate the experience).
And speaking of experiences; the first one goes something like this…
It was 2004 or 2005, I was cruising solo in my little bungalow on Kossuth Street and had just gotten out of the bath. I shrugged on my fluffy, blue bathrobe and grabbed the only towel in the washroom (which happened, as it were, to be of the bath sheet variety. As in very big). I put it on my head turban-style and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. Now, I don’t have a full length mirror in my hallway (or anywhere for that matter) but for some reason I imagined what I must look like walking through the hall in my fluffy robe, slippers, and ginormous towel on my head. And I think of Ferris Beuller and his famous day off. Remember when he’s sluffing around the house, waiting for Cameron to come pick him up, despite whatever his diastolic must be? He’s all like: “I got a day off here and time’s a wasting. Guess I’ll get dressed an go play the clarinet.” So I’m walking down the hall and to no one what-so-ever, I say out loud: “’I don’t believe in Beetles, I just believe in me.’ John Lennon said that. He was the Walrus. I could be the Walrus, I’d still have to bum rides off of people.”
The entire time I was talking, I had this overwhelming feeling of déjà vu (normally, déjà vu can be easily explained as the brain is simply misfiling brand new information as “memory”. Except when it can’t. This time there was something different going on; like someone was playing me like a tape recorder. And as quickly as the feeling came over me and I spoke out loud, it left and I felt fine again. Went back to my room to get dressed. It was my first day off in about 17 days and I was itching to crawl back in bed with my little kitty cat and nap the day away. As I was putting on clean pj’s, I stumbled (‘magine that) and stepped on the television remote. I had an older tube television in my room back then so the sound came on first and the picture followed about 30-45 seconds later once the power button on the ancient remote was pushed. As I am picking myself off the floor *sigh* I hear Mr. Broderick say the following phrases: “’I don’t believe in Beetles, I just believe in me.’ John Lennon said that. He was the Walrus. I could be the Walrus, I’d still have to bum rides off of people.”
That eerie feeling I’d had moments before returned like a blow to the solarplexus and I almost became ill for a second. My head pounded and my tummy got a rumbly. I bent down to pick up the remote I’d stepped on and pressed the power button again. Nothing happened. So I walked to the TV and shut it off. The queasy feeling left once again and I was left alone to my confusion about what had just transpired. One of the first things I realized was that nothing like this had ever happened to me before. The second was the fact that that channel should not have even came on at all. Because I only had basic, basic cable (it was all I could afford on my own; I didn’t even have internet back then because it was too expensive), whenever the TV was off for more than a minute or two, the box reverted back to channel 4 (or was it 5?). It was the channel with local community 411 (and wanted criminals in the afternoon!) scrolling across the bottom, time and temp up in the right hand corner. But that wasn’t the channel that was on. I pushed the Power button on the TV once more as the remote had stopped wanting to work. Now I don’t know how much time had passed since the was turned off but while the picture went from dim and fuzzy to clear as it caught up with the sound, good ol’ channel 5 filled the screen . I hit the PRV button on the old console TV and the picture flipped back to TBS (which was channel 13 or 14, I can’t remember exactly) where Ferris was playing the clarinet, claiming he never had one lesson.
I let the feeling of being a player piano slide away slowly as I shrugged into a comfy sweatshirt and placed a towel over the pillow, my hair was still wet. At some point, as I struggled to empty my head, the towel had fallen off. In fact, I didn’t even find it until the next day as it somehow ended up under the bed. Snuggled in with kitty I, eventually, took my nap.
Over the years, that experience has stayed fresh in my mind like it was yesterday. That strange feeling of being watched and controlled or whatever still freaks me out a little. And I’m not a little disappointed that the one and only psychic experience I’ve ever had was so lame in content and usefulness. Oh well. Fast forward to present day: I’m sitting up on my porch and have been since 4 am. I guess the nap I had yesterday threw off my circadian rhythms. No bother. I spent the wee smalls playing fetch with my wild-ass Cassius. Funny story: I had to put him in time out twice in the past 12 hours for being a shit. It involves my taking his fetching wand and sitting on it until he calms down; usually works too! He lies there and takes his punishment almost like he understands growling and posturing don’t fly to well with mama.
So I’m sitting out here on my porch, listening to the birds chirp and waiting for the rest of the world around me to wake, playing Angry Birds. Cassius, his punishment long forgotten, begins to push and rub on my feet. He opens his mouth and starts rubbing his gums on my toes (cats do this to mark you as their special pet without having to pee on you) and shoving his fetching wand at me like “hey! You gonna play with me or not? Rawwhaah rawahhhhhaaaaaahhhhh. Mreweeeeh. Meeeeehhhhh!”
“Not now, Cassius! Playing Birds!”
“Rawwhaah rawahhhhhaaaaaahhhhh. Mreweeeeh. Meeeeehhhhh! Play! With! Me!”
“Unghhhhh. No."
“ Rawwhaah rawahhhhhaaaaaahhhhh. Mreweeeeh. Meeeeehhhhh!”
So I start thinking about the scene from Just Married where Ashton accidentally kills Brittany Murphy’s dog when he throws Baggs’ fetching toy out the window. The non-ground-level window. Whoops. And this feeling of déjà vu comes over almost immediately and I feel like a puppet for about 30 seconds (could have been longer but hard to say). The feeling quickly passed. I turned and grabbed my Powerade then drained it. I told kitty, “you’re name isn’t Baggs; it’s Cassie.” He replies with a whine-mreow as I got up to go inside to fetch another water, opened the door and walked inside. Guess what’s on HBO, on the last channel I was watching over three hours ago. Guess which part of the movie was playing. Kutcher is coming clean on the 60 inch screen and telling Brittany how her dog really died. He had previously blamed a squirrel.
Whatever. I’m over it now but am still a little pissy that I can’t channel anything useful. I did, however write down two numbers that have been coming up a lot lately. Think I’ll try for the lottery next week. AS soon as I conjure up a few more numbers, that is.
Have a great weekend, everybody.
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