I spent the whole weekend rattled, and I didn’t know why. I thought it was food poisoning. I was wrong.
Now I know why I couldn’t think all weekend, why I wasn’t “on game” on Friday, why I got physically ill on Saturday, and why I couldn’t make myself do anything on Sunday.
Ever since I met her in Psychology 101, there’s been something weird about us. I was the first to pick it up, she picked it up later. We had a long time trying to figure out what it was — a few missteps, mostly on my part — until finally, we knew. We just knew.
I met my sister. She met her brother.
And this weekend, something happened. She’s okay, but there was a scare.
Now, everytime my cynical atheism gets hold of me, something like this happens. All the way from Seattle, a kharmic hammer hits me in the head and says, “Something’s wrong — something happened.” Sometimes I’m centered enough to know, sometimes I’m so fixated on my own life, I don’t recognize it.
This was one of the latter moments.
I’m relieved now. And a little less cynical.