The Omen

Excuse me while I flee from an ever persistent foe, and while by that you may think I mean the workload I got dumped with this lent (evidently something I should have given up) I mean the oddity that is the old woman on my street that points damningly at me from fifty feet away while I wait at the bus stop.

I know it shouldn’t be but the fact that she did this to somebody else today was slightly relieving. I suppose the paranoid parts of me still twitch when something so cliche in movies and games reenacts itself pathetically in real life.

There is a certain part of me that does jump straight to the conclusion that she knows something I don’t but I shrug it off pretty fast. Still, I reckon it would make for a great character to employ as a plot device. Maybe I should get onto that, then maybe I’ll impress literary agents as much as that homeless guy who kept a cat on his big issue pile.

Lucky sod.

She tries to speak to people moving past her but I, and apparently the guy she talked to today, didn’t understand a word she said. And that’s the worst part of this, that she might have some variation on dementia and not only can I not do anything to help her, but I have to walk past her frequently and be reminded of how bad things are inside of her head.

And then I have to kick myself for having such a brash instinctual reaction. Being ill and being crazy are incredibly different sometimes and I wish that my brain could be so reasonable in the moment rather than employing le spirit d’escalier.

If there’s any omen as frightening as the idea of losing my mind I haven’t found it yet.

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