I always think it’s weird when someone casually throws out, “I’m psychic,” the way one might throw out, “I have blue eyes.”
You know, like being psychic is a thing. Like you are capable of literally seeing the future.
Let’s really parse that one out here. Because it’s Monday and, believe me, I’m suffering for it. Let’s suffer together.
I mean, do you really know what you’re saying when you tell me you’re psychic? You are saying, out loud, with no shame, in front of other humans, in the 21st century, that you have magical powers.
You are telling me that you, specifically, have:
🤪 🤪 Magical Powers 🤪🤪.
I’ve gotta tell you, it makes me think you either: (a) think very, very highly of yourself, or (b) are insane. Or both.
You’re like a weird, old neighbor lady who’s a dead ringer for Abe Vigoda, who tells you that the only reason she lost the role in “Some Like It Hot” to Marilyn Monroe was because she came down with Mono right after her audition, and you think, “Well, maybe she looked different when she was younger?”
Then she shows you a picture of her from 1957 and then lightning crashes and a dead crow falls from the sky right onto the photo because she somehow looked even more like Abe Vigoda back then than she does now, and you’re just thinking, “Who is this woman trying to kid here? Am I in an alternate universe? We both know you’re making this up.”
I always feel really bad for those “Well, I am psychic” people because I know I can barely mask how much I cringe when they say it. It takes everything I have to not say, “And why do you suppose you specifically were blessed/cursed with these magical powers? Were you sent here by all-knowing genius aliens to change the world with your intuitive powers to prevent wars and famine? Please. Enlighten me as to how you wield this power for the greater good.”
No, I wouldn’t even ask that, because I already know that you’re not wielding this power for the greater good. You’re using your psychic powers to tell your niece to try out for “America’s Got Talent” because you saw in a vision that she made it to at least the third round.
It really does just make the most sense that you, of all people, have been granted the power to see the future. I mean, look at how much good you’re doing with it! I’m so moved, I’m totally picturing your face right now and singing Michael Jackson’s “Man in The Mirror”. Sha-mon!
Make that change. 😢
And while we’re on the subject, let’s talk about manifesting. Manifesting almost makes sense to me on a practical level because if you spend enough time thinking about something, there’s a good chance you’ll actually get off your ass and do something about it. The “doing” being the operative part of it.
If I think about grilled cheese long enough (thirty seconds), I’m eventually going to go out and get one. But manifesting as in, “I’m just going to think about how much I want grilled cheese, paste a photo of it to a board, and then hope grilled cheese will appear at my front door?”
Yeah, there’s already a word for that. It’s called “wishing”. It’s the thing you tell children to do when they find a fallen eyelash or throw a penny into the fountain, because they’re too young to know that wishes aren’t really a thing.
Be happy that kid-wishes don’t come true, by the way. If kid-wishes came true, your kids would have had you struck dead years ago that time you told them they had to put on their shoes when they didn’t want to put on their shoes.
From my observations as a child-free person, asking a small child to put on shoes is akin to asking them to co-sign a mortgage for your junkie half-sister. They’re having NONE of it. They would absolutely strike you down right that second if all they had to do was wish for it.
Then they would take all the blood-soaked money out of your pockets and run out the door, barefoot, to buy a metric ton of ice cream and a petting zoo for themselves and not even feel bad about it. This is why it’s your job as a parent to teach them empathy. God knows those jerks aren’t born with it.
Not unlike the psychic thing, if you tell me that you’re able to “manifest” things and have them suddenly appear in your life, you’re basically saying that unlike the rest of the entire world, you are so special that when you make a wish, it actually comes true. With a straight face you’re telling me this.
I mean, really. You’re that special?
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want anyone to walk around thinking they’re a pile of crap (except Becky’s mom), but on the other hand I feel like there should be some middle ground between “I’m a pile of crap,” and “I’m so special that I have magical powers.”
But then apparently I’m in a “mood” today. You should have seen it coming, though. You’re psychic, after all. Maybe you can manifest a better mood for me, or at least a grilled cheese. I TAKE IT WITH YELLOW MUSTARD AS GOD INTENDED. Thanks.