I love psychics. I believe that some people have extra-sensory gifts, and as long as you approach a psychic’s services from a perspective grounded in both entertainment and open-mindedness, then the experience can be fun, enlightening, and depending on the depth of their gift, sometimes very emotional. I’ve done various readings with different psychics over the years, just for fun, and the majority of them have absolutely blown me away with their accuracy and insight. Only one or two were completely off the mark, but all the others left me with a feeling of absolute wonderment and fascination with how well they were able to read me, and also the extent of their gifts.
I haven’t had a reading in years, and there’s a psychic in my neighborhood just a few blocks from my house. Most of the psychics I’ve known don’t have store fronts. They mostly operate and advertise their services by word of mouth and through referrals. But I drive by this building, with it’s neon Open sign always bright and flashing, no matter the time of day or night, at least three or four times a week. And I always think, they can’t always be open. And every time I drive by I think about stopping and going inside. I’ve been meaning to do it for years, ever since we moved to this neighborhood. So, if I calculate the numbers, I’ve had this thought at least three times a week, 52 weeks a year, for six years. That’s 936 times I’ve thought about going in to see this psychic!
And then every time I drive by, I imagine that this person is sitting inside this building and thinking, “There she goes again.” And when I do finally decide to stop in, I imagine this person saying to me, “Yes Wanda, we are always open, and it’s about fucking time.”