I should be packing things away in boxes, but I am never so full of key-stroking impetus as when I should be doing something else. In fact, virtually every letter you will read here came at the expense of something else I was supposed be doing. As a kid, I always thought you just outgrew your desire to drop everything and make a fort in the living room out of the couch cushions. Now, with nearly a decade of adulthood under my belt, I see the truth: we never outgrow, we only tame the beast. Those who do not tame remain children, in cognito. They'll never be able to stroll through Wickes' Furniture without imagining a Chateau d'If made entirely from cushions.
Speaking of refusing to face reality, check this out: a Connecticut woman, claiming to be a psychic, was charged with lying to police after she filed a report accusing "rival psychics" of beating her up. Let's unpack this. First, I gotta believe that the biggest perk to being a psychic -- aside from the flowing gypsy robes -- is seeing the future. Ideally, a psychic should be the last person to be surprised by an attack.
Second, wouldn't the rival psychics know this, and maybe have a better way of getting to her than the very non-psychic route of beating her up? Replace her crystal ball with a regular glass one, maybe? The 'ol Pins-In-The-Voodoo-Doll trick? And gangs of rival psychics? Are these a problem in Connecticut? Do they have gang colors, and specified gang territories. Are there drive-by palm readings, after which they all meet back at the circled caravan of wagons? So many questions.
Finally, she ends up getting arrested. Shocker. One would think that an average person, entirely not gifted with magical powers, would be able to deduce that repeatedly lying to police is likely to put you behind bars. I guess psychics are like drug dealers; the first rule is you never use the product your selling.
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