Before school started, I watched the show "Dirt" on Netflix. It was getting pretty interesting before it was unceremoniously cancelled. It is about a celebrity gossip magazine and the woman who runs it. Her top photographer happened to also be schizophrenic which lead to a few plot topics. After some bad "trips", he decides to go back on his medication. A night or two after, he is lying in bed, when his cat, Tristan, addresses him (as he had done a few times over the 1.5 seasons): "You know what normal means? It means you don't get to talk to your cat anymore." The character handles it well enough, though all I could feel in response to the scene was aching loneliness. The character was already isolated by his social awkwardness and being alone; taking away his talking cat just seemed cruel. And I thought briefly to myself, I wish I was just a little schizophrenic, because I would like it if the cats talked to me.
("Dirt" sort of died because of the writers' strike, as did many shows. On the other hand, Courtney Cox went on to start "Cougar Town" which, despite a tacky and embarrassing title, is one of the funniest shows I've ever seen.)
The show I replaced "Dirt" with is "Medium." "Medium," of course, is about a woman who sees the future, or symbolic representations of it, in her dreams. Sometimes, she also sees and talks to ghosts. Just as I responded to the cat, Tristan, I was jealous of the Medium and have longed to have conversations with departed souls. This is a problem for me, since I don't really believe in departed souls. Just goes to show, you can want things that aren't real just as sincerely as the ones that are. So I have been wanting this fictional ability the last few weeks, as I have watched this show. Wanting is probably not enough to develop supernatural metaphysical powers, but I'm giving it the ol' college try.
Yesterday, I had to get dressed up for the inauguration of our new chancellor, Roth (a very nice man who came and watched my whole performance on Friday; more than I can say for my colleagues in my own department). I put on a pair of shoes I have never warn, a pair handed down from my mom in "like new" condition. As soon as I put them on, I felt like the right one was telling me it would break. I didn't have another pair that would match the dress and the weather, so I decided to wear them anyway. The feeling was so strong, though, I packed a change of clothes and shoes into my bag.
On cue, as we walked over to the ceremony, the strap of the right shoe broke. I was next to the darkroom, so I ducked in, grabbed electrical tape (only kind in there), and taped the strap to my foot. It mostly held, and later, someone even complimented the shoes, not seeing the black tape holding the back together. I still have the black marks from the tape on my ankle. After lunch, I changed clothes so I wouldn't have to deal with the tape-shoe in class.
The cats aren't talking yet, and I have had no insights from the beyond, but at least I can plan for fashion emergencies.
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