This is always a problem for me personally, because I tend to live anecdotally--this is why you will rarely hear me talk about aliens, ghosts, predicting the future, or weird coincidence outside fic. It's hideously uncomfortable because it's unquantifiable. I don't mind my religion being unquantifiable or unprovable--that's kind of the point--but when dragging out how one's baby sister apparently had a discussion with Grandpa a couple of hours after he died is one of those things that I feel requires some amount of alcohol, a very late night, and someone having lost deeply at poker.
I miss big holidays with my family when it was extended. Those were good times. And if you were very small and hid outside the dining room, you would learn far more about Uncle Bob after his demise than you ever wanted to know.
Like I said, hideously uncomfortable.
1.) Alien ship. Three, actually, but two I can't be sure of due to age, so I tend to only claim one.
It was late, and we lived in the country, and it was night, which already proves I'm totally right because X-Files taught us all that if you are going ot be kidnapped and you are not Scully, these are the requirements.
It was late one night, as nights do, and I was at my bedroom window. from there I could see the road that intersected with my street about an eighth of a mile to teh west. I was a sulky teenager and having that thing where I stared at the window at odd hours and hated everything. I'm fairly sure I had Bon Jovi playing in teh background.
Anyway, I watched a pair of whitish headlights come down the road. Nothing new. In fact, if I'd stood up at any time before the last moment, I never would have known anything had been odd. What made it odd was about--hmm, one hundred feet from the intersection, the lights took flight.
I have never claimed to be quick on the uptake. I watched the dark line of the road and went through every possibilty, up to and including the very real possibility I was asleep. Except I wasn't, and my stereo played on and nothing changed in the five seconds that lapsed between the moment I saw what I'd seen and the now except for everything.
Except nothing did.
I also never, ever discuss this after nine at night. And never when I'm in the country. Or when I'm sober. I am blaming the Wendy's breakfast food. It was intoxicating.
2.) Ghosts - I've never seen one in whole, and I'm not sure that's even the word for what I see. I don't even claim I can be sure they're ghosts--from nine at night until around seven in the morning, they *arent'*, because I live in my head and my head and I don't want to deal with that. But sometimes, there's a flicker on the edge of vision, like watching a pond ripple when a fish touches the surface. It's so ignorable, and so easy to pretend it's anything else. My vision's bad, it's been a long night, I'm tired, I'm moody, it's the wind, it's the air conditioning, it's a million thing but this one thing that I always know when I see it, recognize when I feel it. It's not cold and it's not dark, and I don't think it even knows I'm there, or if it does, it doesn't matter. And it doesn't scare me until after, when I turn on all my lights and worry I'll see it again.
I don't know why that scares me, except for the fact it doesn't scare me at all.
3.) Precogntion and Deja Vu - my coworker and I were discussing theories of de ja vu and my most weirdly frequent dream-theme, which is repeating the same action over and over until I get a differnet response. No, seriously. I don't always remember what they are--I rarely do, but I remember stopping during the dream and saying, no. Not this way.
It's an insane dream, always, with like dragons and vampires and people with improbable eighties hairstyles--but I'll stop halfway through and say, no, do it again. And I'll start from Point A, trying this time to see if I can change it, what I can alter to make the outcome what I want. It's been hours of dream-time or sometimes years that I'll walk the same path and try every fork, going as far as I can before I turn back because I know that I have to find another way, this one, this one's wrong, and sometimes, I don't know why it's wrong. I don't even know what the outcome is supposed to be. And most of the time, I'll wake up exhausted and grumpy and wondering what happened, just knowing that I must have found it, whatever it was.
I'd say it has a lot to do with my deep seated desire to control everything coupled with laziness that tends to make me seek out people who will do it for me while I prod.
Except for this.
I'll read a book. Start a conversation. Step onto a plane. Walk into a room, a building, a park. And there's a second of vertigo and something like euphoria, and I think, now. I've done this, said this, and I don't know if it ever shows on my face or in my voice, but I know you'll say this, I know that if I do this, this happens. I know and I think I've been waiting for it, and then five seconds, five minutes, it's over and I have no idea what just happened. And sometimes, I won't even believe it did. I don't even remember why I cared, if I smiled and said hi. Nothing ever comes of it--I didn't meet my soulmate, gain a fortune, save the world, helped an angel get its wings. I kind of think once I actually sprained a toe during my Great Moment of Have Done This, and I have no tolerance for pain, so really.
But I never stop feeling something did.
And it's deja vu, of course it is, except....I wonder if I've done it before, in a dream, dress rehearsaled my life, this moment that I never knew was signficant, worked it over and over until the outcome matched, until the events lead to this insignificant moment that was so hugely important that my own mind made me go through it a hundred times to get it right, ground it into me so thoroughly that I lived five second or five minutes by roat and reflex becuase it was so important I couldn't be trusted to do it right otherwise.
Or conversely, after, I blink and wonder if the point was this was my last chance to change it.
4.) I used to talk to myself a lot. I still do, but most of teh conversations I'd carry on in my head, because one looks a lot less insane that way. But there's this point in my life where I think I used to have someone talking back to me.
I can't even prove that one, not even in my memories. Like my claustrophobia, my fear of heights, it's this feeling that I missed something, something big enough to fingerprint me and never feel it.
5.) Coincidence is random serendipity, I know this. In a chaotic universe, it happens. It's never huge and magical and strange and it's always ordinary and I never wonder until I do.
I don't have examples, because it's commonplace and it never matters until one day, it does. Sometimes its coffee and cookies and sometimes its class and sometimes, someone calls and asks me a question that I just read, wants a book I have. Sometimes, we're at my grandmother's and need a left handed woman's golf club that she picked up at a garage sale last wek in a box of books that include three Anne McCaffrey I hadn't read before.
I don't even know what to say about that one.
6.) BONUS ROUND: this isn't even supernatural, but it's odd.
Every once in a while, when I'm reading, when I'm writing, when I'm crocheting, talking, laughing, I'm cold sober and suddenly I'm euphoric. It's more intense than any drug I've ever taken, and this is up to and including the magnificent stuff they gave me at the hospital during that thing where they stuck the camera down my throat and I fell deeply in love with the universe.
Sometimes it lasts for minutes or hours--when I'm writing, I can keep it going for nearly a day if I don't eat and keep the caffeine. I know it's physiological in some way, my body doing something new and hormonally strange and I have no objections, because it's rare and it's good and I have never objected to such gifts.
Euphoria. I've done it on vicadin and ephedrine, I can induce it with ritalin but don't because I need it for it's *purpose* and I won't screw that up; I can do it with alcohol and I did it a few times with pot and once with LSD before that thing with paranoia and tasting colors hit me so hard that to this day, I do think i'd probably try to jump off something very high rather than live one hour that way again. But it's nothing like that at all. It's soft and warm and bright and I'm absolutely certain, sure, there's no doubt that everything is okay, that it will be, and I---I don't want to just feel it. I want to share it. I wnat to do things, like clean a house or write a novel or crochet a blanket, talk to a friend and tell them what I am absolutely certain that all this time they have needed to hear, buy gifts and go running, make sure that this second isn't wasted.
There are others, but they delve far into the things-that-have-happened-when-I'm-not-r
It's still so--I keep reading back and thinking about how I feel as if I should be reporting to Area 51 clubs.
So. Wanna share?