I was a bit OCD as a child. I thought that if I did anything I had to repeat it (MyAge+1)x or I would die. This included things like skipping, hopping over lines in the sidewalk without touching and throwing and catching a ball. It became harder as I grew older but I also had more skill so my fear of death receded over time.
I also collected numbers. I liked to keep my bus tickets (each one had a discrete serial number) and recorded the numbers that city workers left on things like fire hydrants and sidewalk access hatches. I felt that there might be some clue to life, some code that could be solved. Something that the adults were doing that they hadn't told me.
Later, I read a Roald Dhal short story about a man who has a form of extra-sensory perception that allows him to see through cards. I borrowed books on ESP from the library and spent a long time researching Kundalini and Uri Geller to see if I could read minds. For a long time I believed that I had a super-power of microscopic vision and that those little motes of fat one sees dancing across the eye were actually microscopic particles in the air that only I could see!
Anyway, after a few more decades of reading the potents in tarot cards and secret societies I have largely morphed my belief in portents into a healthy respect for the buddha's teachings and a quixotic category of "I don't know but I like to imagine" which includes looking at the stars in dark places and being SURE that Wren did so well in his last surgery because I found so many sand dollars on the beach the month before. [I found lots on Vashon before his July appointment so the significance was confirmed.]
This brings me to yesterday.
Yesterday, I received two strange injuries and they feel ominous [omen-ous?]
FIRST I was mauled by a chicken. The artifact is a large red scratch across the side of my face onto my eyelid.
SECOND I squeezed a sliver of my stomach between the upper and lower sections of a loft bed we were assembling. The artifact is a small red line of broken blood vessels.
I am really at a loss to know what the universe is telling me. Is it that I should lose weight and give people more space? Should I become vegetarian?
[ASIDE: In the bath last night I was feeding Wren his leftover beef fajita when he asked:
"What is this stuff? It look like chicken poop."
[Wren throws it on the bathmat.]
"Its beef, meat from a cow. Don't throw meat."
"A cow from the shop."
"I don't know which cow."
"You went to the farm and which cow did you picked the body off?"
"No, someone else killed the cow and sold it at the shop."
"Cow is very strong. It is hard to bite it."
Anyway, I shall post a picture of my mortal injuries later. Actually, not my belly. I am not ready to post a picture of my belly yet.