• PN

Grand Theft Auto

If you have never had a reading I will forewarn you they can become addictive. Admittedly my enthusiasm around these curious conversations have inadvertently encouraged friends to also take the plunge. Having followed the advice of a psychic to resign from my job I wondered whether I could also get some advice on how to conjure an income. Since I had blown through all my savings overseas it would take nothing short of divine intervention to make rent on time. While I probably could have reigned in help from the parentals, I’d already pulled this stunt in 2017 after being made redundant when my sister and I booked an impromptu holiday to the States that neither of us could afford. I returned broke, jobless and homeless as I pulled up to my Dad’s place in my 94 Ford with a boot full of souvenirs from our adventure. This time around I wanted to believe that I was older and somewhat wiser and so decided to give the crystal ball another go instead.

After meeting up with a friend who was also at a crossroads, I explained how my first reading was pivotal in setting me in the right direction and the next thing I knew we were both sitting in Nature’s Energy waiting for a psychic to emerge. Unfortunately this reading would not be like the one I had described. It was far more specific and as the psychic predicted specific dates in which I could expect life events to unfold. I became increasingly nervous, especially when my ancestors became “insistent” that I undertake certain life decisions. Reading my apprehension the Psychic went on to mimic the exact way in which my grandfather sat, cross legged with a cigarette in hand, “only Benson & Hedges” he said, “your pop was very particular.” Apparently the psychic had 100% hit rate of fucking people up as when my friend emerged from her session she too looked like she had seen a ghost. “I’ll drive,” I said walking to my car with quickened pace. Meanwhile my friend sourced a suitable playlist to compliment our adrenaline rush which was coursing through our veins like a class A drug. Feeling flighty we drove around the city for hours in an attempt to escape our foreboding readings and didn't return home until late in the evening.

It was unfortunate that I had offered to drive, as it turned out the night before a high functioning alcoholic had reached through our kitchen window and stolen my friends car keys. The drunk had also been cruising around the city until late afternoon when he lost control of the car and ran over a woman, leaving the car engulfed in flames. If he hadn't of sent out a smoke signal I would have said he was a man of stealth, as we had no idea the car was gone until the police called. After hearing we freaked out and began a hysterical re-enactment of how he broke in. Which we realised was a mistake when the police arrived for fingerprints and we were forced to concede there was no point given we had just compromised the crime scene.

Considering the psychic neglected to foresee grand theft auto perhaps I should have taken his predictions about my love life with a grain of salt. Especially when I wasn’t sure who he was talking about, which lets face it...was an answer in of itself. However, I’ve come to find that almost anything can be rationalised to seem like a good idea. The scary part is when people jump on board not knowing there's no captain on the ship. Which is exactly what happened when I assumed the psychic knew something I didn't and I began playing into the reading. In retrospect it was probably a by-product of having too much time on my hands, an observation my housemate kindly pointed out one day when she returned home from work and found me making my own oat milk.

I've found life to be similar to that of the shape game which I'm sure I would of played as a kid. If you don't remember the premise is simple, put the correct shape in the right hole, a concept most kids figure out pretty quickly. I haven’t asked my parents but I’m pretty sure I was one of the anomalies who couldn’t quite understand that a square shape won’t fit in a circle hole. Which is becoming more apparent as I've gotten older and made the same mistakes more than twice. Ever the optimist, I still find myself rationalising how it could still work if I moulded the edges. As I am constantly surprised by my brains capacity to make learned failures attractive again through the rosy lens of retrospect. While it has often made for a good story, I imagine that an even better one comes from finding the piece that fits.  


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