I’ve been contemplating doing another product endorsement, possibly for Fred Meyer’s new Home Sense Facial Tissues that come in a set of four decorative boxes and cost, like, almost nothing AND are soft and strong. BUT there is something distracting me from that titillating topic. What could be more interesting than quality facial tissues at bargain prices, you ask?
Professional psychics. I’m obsessed with professional psychics. I want to be either a psychic or an FBI profiler; or at least a writer for The Mentalist. (Call me, Simon.) The amount of information they get by simply asking, “Have you lost anyone whose name starts with the letter ‘M’?” blows my mind. Think about it. Who hasn’t lost someone whose name starts with the letter ‘M’? Why, I had two great aunts, both named Mary. Both are deceased!
I didn’t mean to sound so excited about that. Sadly, one Mary died many years ago and the other a year ago. That leaves the door wide open for the next question: “You lost them recently?” Or: “You lost them long ago?” Either way, we have a winner.
The holidays are approaching, and it’s a great time to tap that vein (as it were). Both of my great aunts had a strong influence on our family during the Christmas season. One Mary was so natural at keeping kids happy she should have taught the first grade. Maybe she did. It doesn’t matter. The other lived a little higher on the hog than the rest of us, and decorated her home with fascinating beauty and kept the adults out of us kids’ hair so we could “steal” her expensive caramels that were left well within our reach. *wink* One Mary was in charge of Christmas Eve, and the other was in charge of Christmas Day.
“But you don’t like holidays, do you?” asks my internal psychic/profiler. Exactly right. What’s important here isn’t the delightful memories I’m having, it’s what’s happening to my shoulders while I think about those memories. There were some not so great things afoot that time of year for almost everyone in Western society.
A good psychic/profiler would watch my shoulders, and then say, “You don’t have to tell me why you don’t enjoy holidays. I can tell it’s private.”
What is private? They and/or I don’t know. Neither one of us/them can see into my mind, let alone chat with either Mary, but we don’t need to. We watch. My shoulders are rolling forward, not down. Okay, I remember what happened to me, but I’m having trouble keeping my pronouns straight. Shoulders. Watch the shoulders.
A psychic would say, “They both want you to know that if they could have done something, they would have.”
An FBI profiler would say, “You found a way to get whoever hurt you back. Everyone has that darkness within them, and you are one of the lucky ones. You know how to let it out.”
What a lovely sentiment to be told that two women, both fun and entertaining, were on my side. Or to be told it’s normal to want to kill people. I want to believe and take comfort in those words. Sometimes that longing for acceptance is enough to make people spill their guts. I’m so relieved my aunts supported me and that killing people and hiding their remains in my freezer and serving them to guests in lieu of a Christmas turkey is okay, I’m ready to talk about all of it…
…to a licensed therapist.
Let’s see what I can do with a deck of cards. It doesn’t have to be a mystical deck like a Tarot deck; though I know those decks well, any old deck will do. (I’m typing ‘deck’ over and over again for my own amusement, obviously.) Pick a card and I’ll tell you what it means to YOU and we can share a super special moment, or just click the “like” button down there to let me know you actually finished reading this ridiculous, pronoun-ridden post.