Day 4

I had a bag of the cat’s dirty litter in my hand. I was about to step out the front door and head to the dumpster. Then: a premonition. I was certain that if I walked across the parking lot to the dumpster an object, a piece of an airplane or a satellite or a drone, something like that would come crashing down and split my head open.


I closed the door. I set the bag of litter on the floor. I sat in my chair. I thought things over. It was absurd to believe my head was going to be split open carrying the bag of dirty cat litter to the dumpster. And yet. . .this is what I believed. I moved my chair next to the front window. I sat there looking out at the parking lot. What should I do? I have had these premonitions before. Sometimes they were accurate. I remember over 30 years ago, close to 40 years ago, I was working in a store, a young woman came in, she had a mohawk, she was nonetheless attractive. Oh no! I will marry her! It happened. Yes, sometimes the premonitions eventuated in reality exactly as they presented themselves. Of course, sometimes they did not. I sat in my chair and decided to wait until I saw another human being moving about the parking lot. Let me see what happens to them, I thought.

Several moments passed by. I stared at the bag of dirty cat litter. This was the cat’s fault. Nonetheless, I harbored no ill will toward my cat. He has been a great and loyal friend. Finally a car enters the parking lot, parks. A fat white woman gets out of the car. She walks to her unit without incident. I had hoped whatever falling object that was meant for me might take her instead. But of course, that’s not how this shit works. I know that. I knew that. I went back to staring at the bag of dirty cat litter. Sooner or later, I would have to take it out. Sooner or later, I would have to leave my unit, for one reason or another. Let’s just get this shit over with, I thought. I got up. I picked up the bag of dirty cat litter. I opened the front door. I stepped outside. I began walking to the dumpster. I didn’t bother looking up at the sky. Of course, nothing happened. My head wasn’t split open by a piece of falling airplane. I wouldn’t be typing this shit if it had.

[In the interest of scientific accuracy, I must report that I am typing Day 4's report on Day 5. I’m already falling behind on this project. I can only do the best that I can do.]

Intensity: No episode of illness to report.

Frequency: N/A

Factors: No new insights.