I am finding I am getting more and more superstitious in my old age. I’m not talking so much about not walking under ladders, or tossing a pinch of spilled salt over my shoulder (or the more bizarre ones, like not passing people on a staircase, or not putting shoes on a table), although I must say that I am consciously deliberate in my flouting of these conventions. I think I am aiming to taunt the gods into some sort of divine reprimand, just to make them prove they are there.

No, the superstition to which I refer is my reluctance to speak aloud any reference to future events, especially ones to which I look forward. For example, every single work day where I have looked at my list in the morning and said, out loud, “Oh, this one doesn’t look too bad,” turns into a trainwreck. If I make it loud and clear that I am expecting a rotten day, it usually turns out okay.

Other examples: the kitchen renovation. I predicted two years, and it has been less than two months, and it is pretty much finished. Everything happened like clockwork. The kids: any time I dare to talk about how civilized they are becoming, there is a major meltdown in a public place. If I comment about their robust health, someone starts barfing. It goes on an on.

The logical, more scientific part of me assumes that these are all coincidental events. But I can’t deny that it happens more often than not that when I figure a clinic will go late, three patients don’t show up, and we end on time. Patients who I predict will not make it through the weekend live for weeks or months. I have stopped telling patients I will see them next week.

I know there are people out there who will not speak of the future without also uttering the suffix, “God willing”, but since I sit less in the theist camp than many, I tend to prefer to ascribe events to fate or karma, some sort of faceless cosmic force that influences things. However, the frequency with which these things happen does make me wonder.

With all the jokes we have been making about the Pope lately, both T and I were sure we would be struck by lightning. Of course the very act of saying it out loud means it won’t happen. And now that I’ve said that, who knows? It could go either way.

I’m going to bed. Hopefully my electrocution blanket won’t short circuit and fry me in my bed tonight (wink wink).


About therapeuticrambling

I am a wife, a mom, a nurse, a writer. I enjoy laughing.
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