To the dog I will someday have

Dear puppy,

Although it may seem as though your sole purpose in life is to be scary-looking and protective, I have a few reassurances for you that will hopefully make your job seem less complicated.

Yes, you will be my “guard dog.” However, in addition to looking like a terrifying creature of destruction, sounding like an alarm system on steroids, and physically being capable of preventing any serious harm to, well, me? I will expect you to be house trained. Well-behaved. Pleasant in polite company (that of serial killers, rapists, vandals, etc. excluded. Obviously.) Your vicious appearance will be tempered by a heart of sincerity and devotion. Your strength shall be evened out by a passion for life and sly sense of humor.

But your flaws will be largely overlooked (assuming they don’t involve eating children, or my shoes), since, well, duh: I will love you and take care of you.

We’ll be a team, little dude. You’ll be the T to my Rex, the cream cheese to my bagel. That kind of thing. We’ll grow old together; or, more likely, you’ll grow old and I’ll grow middle-aged. It’ll probably just be me you’ll have to deal with, but who knows? Maybe other interesting characters will wander into the picture. Naturally I’ll trust your judgment when it comes to who I spend my personal time with.

Oh, and okay. So there’s one other little hitch I hope you’ll be okay with. That unconditional love bit? You’ll have to stretch it on your end for me, since I kind of crack the sound barrier with my voice on a daily basis. I can try to get you your own room, depending on what apartment we live in. You might have to just chill in the kitchen while I practice. Sorry bud.

Other than that, I think we will be the freakin’ dream team. A build in bff system. That’s us, you and me, me and you, us. I don’t know what your name will be, I don’t know where we’ll meet, or when, or how. I don’t know how I think I’m going to afford to share my life with you (the last part’s a joke. Kind-of.). But I promise that, when I am at a point where I am financially able, semi-paranoid/lonely, and living on my own, we will meet and our lives will mesh.

And there you have it. Just something to look forward to.

Sincerely waiting,

Kim

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Psychosis

Here’s the definition for it; it’s not just taking up space as the title of this blog entry. Psychosis (pl. psychoses): a severe mental disorder in which thought and emotions are so impaired that contact is lost with external reality.

It has nothing to do with what I’m about to talk about, except that the core of the word “psych” is also the core of the word psychic. “Psych” comes from the Greek psychikos, meaning “of the mind” or “mental.”

I’m going to see a psychic today.

I feel like both a skeptic and a wimp. Cool, man, cool (not)

I tried to think of other ways to phrase that, but the truth is? I’m feeling a little weird about it and don’t know what to expect. I’ve always had a tendency to research the paranormal, and in doing so have compiled the following facts that seem to be making me nervous.

01. My grandma is a pretty avid Christian and has mentioned to me before that seeking spiritual guidance of that nature is highly ill-advised. She basically conveyed the idea that reaching into the beyond without God was dangerous. Anything from tarot to Ouija to psychics– ex-nay.

02. My mother went with my aunt to see a psychic in Lilydale a few years ago. I remember them returning and detailing the visit for my grandma, cousin and I. Some pretty weird stuff was discussed: everything from the child Kathy must have miscarried to the possible future of Caitlin, to contact with my dead grandfather. Weird shit.

03. The Bible says that seeking mediums are not the way to go. The advice of a centuries-old book shouldn’t be discounted, should it? Granted it was mentioned in the Old Testament where there were hundreds of rules, but still. (Along with psychoanalysis and paranormal research, I’ve been interested in religion as well.)

04. Maybe I’m just a cynical skeptic when it comes to the whole “here let me tell you something about your life that I shouldn’t know at all, but I do” thing. That makes me feel vulnerable. Also, not in control.

05. Plus, I am pretty solidly in the “spirit world is real” camp. I realize that we’re blind to the actions of the ether, normally, but I think they’re there. Thankfully I’ve been blissfully unaware, mostly, thus far… can you imagine neurotic me, trying to live alongside ghosts and knowing it?

06. Also, to be brutally honest, I’m nervous. I’m nervous because even though I’m going with Sarah and her mother and they’ve done this before, who knows what I might learn. Apparently it’s this thing called “circles” where you pay ten dollars or so to sit in a circle with four or five other people. This psychic gives you (and here I’m quoting Sarah) “a mini reading.” I’ve never been to Lilydale and don’t know what to expect.

And here’s the kicker for me, I guess. I’ve never– never— been afraid of learning something. I’ve been afraid of many other things: death, sharks, deep water, slashers, stalkers, cannibals, fire, baby-killers and sadists. But never new knowledge.

I guess I’m just unnerved. What if I’m told I’ll suffer unspeakable tragedy soon? Or that my greatest worries will become reality? Or that on the way home some normal guy will suffer a psychotic break and steal Sarah and I for a fun couple years in his basement lined with human skin?

I just don’t know what I’ll be told, and I won’t have any control over it. I don’t like to be unaware of what I’ll face. So maybe I should be happy that whoever gives my “mini reading” might give me a heads-up… or maybe that five minutes will be the most terrifying five minutes of my life.