On Being Psychic
I won't admit to predicting lottery numbers. I won't admit to reading the mind of Kellie to woo her in the way she wanted to be woo'd (piss taking is probably not very high on many peoples Woo Lists. If such lists even exist). I also won't admit to working with the military to plan their military strikes or telling them where Bin Laden was hiding.
No, my power is much more subtle.
Kellie has - for the last two weeks - had an icky headache. I'm not talking the dramatic Woe Is Me For I Am Dying! headache, but it's been borderline nasty headache/migraine for a while now.
No, she won't see a doctor. She's brave. Or something, but whatever, she refuses.
Laying in bed not sleeping, my powers take over, and my train of thought projects into the void. It went something like this:
-Poor Kellie has a headache.
-What can I do to help it go away.
-What could be CAUSING it in the first place.
-Wrong glasses/lenses prescription?
-Ooooh Carbon Monoxide poisoning!
-I get headaches too...
-Maybe it IS Carbon Monoxide...
-But then the kids would have headaches as well.
-But then, if they aren't down here near the boiler, it wouldn't affect them as bad!
-Oooh maybe it IS Carbon Monoxide.
-But then, I spend more time downstairs than Kellie does..
-Maybe I should get a Carbon Monoxide detector.
-I'll get a Carbon Monoxide detector on Wednesday!
And then it went off into the land of wandering around town, using non-existent money to open a business in an empty shop that would make me a millionarre..
The postman plonks his stuff in my slot this morning (stop giggling!) and there is but a solitary letter. I open it up.
Blah blah blah government laws blah blah, last inspection blah blah, missing an item blahdy blah...
We will fit a new Carbon Monoxide detector in your home on blah blah Wednesday blah December blah blah...
Yours blah blah...
See that. Clear and complete proof that I am, in fact, psychic. And to back it up, you are now thinking "He's mad."