My whole family went through a phase a few years ago, wherein they thought it was at the height of entertainment to visit a psychic. My aunts, grandmother and my dear old father would make it a habit of attending various psychic fairs, and also of trying out all of the local psychics in turn. They were trying to find "The One" and the more scarves, crystal balls and incense involved, the better. Like a chain-smoking Professor Trelawney.
Then their favourite psychic had a heart attack. She didn't see it coming! They were forced to find a new one, and pronto. How could they have gone on without knowing deliberately ambiguous events that could possibly happen in the future?!!
One afternoon the aunt who was the most invested in the project called with a revelation. She had found one! The vehicle was loaded with as many relatives one could fit into a Pontiac Sunfire and off they went to seek the spirit.
Of course my sister and I were anxious for him to return so we could find out how it went. We were worried that the bitch was going to rat us out for all of our pseudo-delinquent behaviour! That last wench told Daddy that she'd like to kick my sister in the ass for not realising her true potential, and he wasn't telling me anything she'd said about me, so I knew that bitch spilled the beans.
This particular visit did not go so well. She wasn't a proper psychic, dammit! She was an energy healer! They wuz robbed! Apparently she was able to remove the negative energy from everyone except for my father. I didn't know if he felt worse because he just didn't "mesh" with the woman, or if it was because someone thought he had negative energy that was impossible to purge.
We asked him how she would go about doing such a thing as removing one's negative vibes, and he said this:
"She took a pillow and put all of our negative energy into it, then she made us punch it while she shouted, 'Harder! Harder!'. I tried my best, but I was worried that her husband was going to walk in and think that I had his wife bent over the table or something and that I was giving it to her!"
Gah! Burn that unholy image from my eyes! Erase it's sound from my ears!
Thanks, Dad. I know we're your buddies, but there are just some things that should only be said in a locker room and not to your daughters.
Daddy has since given up on the psychic realm, and lives one day at a time; I like to think that he holds onto much less negative energy than he once did. He's still telling his daughters his stories, such as they are. Should I mention that I wish I had a stepmother who could relieve some of this burden?