There's nothing like a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
I'm a classic for collecting pointy objects and giving myself a good hard jab, preferably in a tender spot. Just to see if it'll hurt as much as I think it will.
I ran into Frenchie on Friday night. I call him Frenchie, because he's French. A stupidly apt nickname. And we have a history. A bizarre, convoluted, awkward little story, which for the life of me, I can't understand why I can't let it go.
I suppose I should look at Friday night as a definite finale to something that never was and was never going anywhere. But... and that's where I fall down. I can always find that 'but' to keep it going a little bit longer.
And in this case the 'but' is the strange and ongoing coincidental nature of our meetings.
I have a confession to make. I have a weakness for consulting psychics. Not that I ever get much sense out of them, but I see it as a form of self indulgence, like spiritual chocolate. And I guess you could call me a chocoholic. Anyway, in the last year, I have consulted three psychics about Frenchie.
Psychic No.1 "He's confused. He's not working alone. Someone is teaching him bad habits. If it's meant to be, it'll will happen"
Psychic No.2 "He's confused. He's narcissistic and shallow and will never admit to his true self"
Psychic No.3 "He's confused. He thinks about you as much as you think about him. Track him down and tell him how you feel. If you don't, you'll regret this for the rest of your life"
Of course, with each of them there was guff about seeing snow and money coming from oveseas. Actually each of the readings said more about my career than anything else and if they're right I'm about to become fabulously wealthy and happy etc.
It's was actually psychic no. 3 that freaked me out. And I'm never freaked out by psychics. It was because she told me something that I really wanted to hear and more importantly, wanted to believe.
And in wanting to believe, I have to tempt fate. So what do I do? I change the return flight on my ticket from Melbourne. Coming back to Newcastle, instead of Sydney, a day earlier than originally planned.
Why?
Because Frenchie is in Newcastle.
And I know, just know, I will see him if I do it.
And I visualise where and when we'll meet.
And it happens. No shit! Exact time, and place.
And this is the third time this has happened!
Some coincidence huh?
So, in a round about way I told him what I needed to tell him and in a round about way he told me to fuck off.
I see my therapist on Tuesday. I'm sure she's going to have a field day with this one!
I ran into Frenchie on Friday night. I call him Frenchie, because he's French. A stupidly apt nickname. And we have a history. A bizarre, convoluted, awkward little story, which for the life of me, I can't understand why I can't let it go.
I suppose I should look at Friday night as a definite finale to something that never was and was never going anywhere. But... and that's where I fall down. I can always find that 'but' to keep it going a little bit longer.
And in this case the 'but' is the strange and ongoing coincidental nature of our meetings.
I have a confession to make. I have a weakness for consulting psychics. Not that I ever get much sense out of them, but I see it as a form of self indulgence, like spiritual chocolate. And I guess you could call me a chocoholic. Anyway, in the last year, I have consulted three psychics about Frenchie.
Psychic No.1 "He's confused. He's not working alone. Someone is teaching him bad habits. If it's meant to be, it'll will happen"
Psychic No.2 "He's confused. He's narcissistic and shallow and will never admit to his true self"
Psychic No.3 "He's confused. He thinks about you as much as you think about him. Track him down and tell him how you feel. If you don't, you'll regret this for the rest of your life"
Of course, with each of them there was guff about seeing snow and money coming from oveseas. Actually each of the readings said more about my career than anything else and if they're right I'm about to become fabulously wealthy and happy etc.
It's was actually psychic no. 3 that freaked me out. And I'm never freaked out by psychics. It was because she told me something that I really wanted to hear and more importantly, wanted to believe.
And in wanting to believe, I have to tempt fate. So what do I do? I change the return flight on my ticket from Melbourne. Coming back to Newcastle, instead of Sydney, a day earlier than originally planned.
Why?
Because Frenchie is in Newcastle.
And I know, just know, I will see him if I do it.
And I visualise where and when we'll meet.
And it happens. No shit! Exact time, and place.
And this is the third time this has happened!
Some coincidence huh?
So, in a round about way I told him what I needed to tell him and in a round about way he told me to fuck off.
I see my therapist on Tuesday. I'm sure she's going to have a field day with this one!
posted by Van Dino at 10:58 am
1 Comments:
I hope so. But that same spider sense that is always right when I win a little bit in lotto or when I know who is on the other end of the telephone (one of the weirder facts that came out after my mum's death was that I'm apparently decended from a long line of witches!) tells me that it's not over yet. Sigh. I think I got hit with the Stupid Stick bigtime!
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