Wednesday, December 10, 2008
It's like you know you shouldn't look; but you can't help yourself.
After my famous run in with a psychic in Sydney many years ago, it seemed to me that actually knowing shit about your future was an excellent way of making sure it didn't happen- if you catch my drift.
So when my mum recently visited the latest psychic d'jour I made a distinct point of making sure she didn't tell me anything about my personal life.
[Note: Of course I didnt care about stuff that was going to happen to others. But it kinda bothers me that so far a lot about what she said about others has since come true.]
To my chagrin, Mum still sends the odd comment my way every now and again - comments I try immediately to forget; with little success it appears...
"He loves his job, even if it's a bit stressful at times", she said.
Hah - recently I've been asking myself if I do in fact still love my job.
Last night, after waking from a nightmare involving a complex set of computer machine language instructions, (to perform a complex work function THAT WAS A COMPLETE LOAD OF SHITE), I'm starting to see the stressful side of the coin.
It was then, in my fragile state of mind, I pictured myself in a me-oriented variation of a John Kirwan advert for mental heath. Satisfied I was in fact only mildly derranged, or at worst dead tired, I turned over, looking foward to what remained of the night.
This shit I could do without.
So, were the pearls of widom from Mum's soothsayer coming back to haunt my subconcious; along with my current workload, creating in turn some version of the truth?
Or was it just good old fashioned stress ?
Ironically I'm unsure if tapping in to the "psychic hotline" makes a difference or not..
But with not knowing, at least I'm not in control of my life again -
And thats the really important thing - right?