I had intentions of writing last night, but something was bothering me. I couldn’t put my finger on it. In fact, I’ve felt like this for several days. This morning I woke up crying. Crying and Mad. I know I stayed up late last night, but this was not being tired. I had a hard time with everything this morning. I didn’t understand why I felt this way. And then I called my mom. She told me that the previous owner of our house died. His obituary was in the paper this morning. As soon as she told me, I felt better.

Yes, I know I sound crazy. But here’s what happened last week;

I woke up very upset last Wednesday and cried and cried. I kept thinking of my high school English teacher who told me “Sometimes a Belly Button is just a Belly Button.” And of course, I didn’t understand she meant not to analyze everything. This has always bothered me, as being analytical is a wonderful characteristic for a scientist, doctor, researcher and many other professions. Not only did that comment hurt who I was, but it hurt even more because my dad was dying of cancer. I was supposed to not think too much. Sure.

Well, come to find out that the teacher died last week. What is up with this?
Want another example?

Last summer, I told one of my friends the lady next door was going to die soon. She died within 3 days.

Also last summer, I woke up the saddest I have ever ever been. Sadder than I can even describe. I called my husband and he was so worried he immediately called my mom. I was completely hopeless, completely. I have never felt this horrible ever or since. Two days later my uncle was found dead. He had killed himself.

Ok, one more:

When my dad was diagnosed with Cancer for a second time I was in school, walking down the hall and I just started bawling, “saying I have to go home now” when I finally got home, I found out that my crying happened at the same time as the diagnosis.

The day my dad died, I was again at school. I begged to leave, they wouldn’t let me. I just knew I needed to get home. My dad died that night. (on a side note I still HATE my prinicipal for making me stay, I often think about TPing his yard). That night I swear I saw a big blue ball of light go across my mom and dad’s bed and out the window.

These may all be coincidences, but it is unfortunate. I wouldn’t mind being psychic if I could help people or win the lottery or read people’s minds. But NO, I just feel when people are dying. I somehow feel the sadness. I can’t tell that it is not my own feelings until someone tells me about the death. Then I can identify it’s not MY feelings, it’s just coming through me. If that makes any sense. I wish I could find a use for this. It does no one any good to know when people are dead. I also wish I didn’t cry so much when it does happen. I have heard of people being “psychic sensitives”, but I feel silly even writing this.

So, watch out if I start crying, who knows what’s going to happen!

Kate