You know how people say that the universe sends out messages? I think the universe speaks to me in French. It doesn’t actually send me messages “en Francais,” but the messages it seems to send me are as clear to me as French.
With only 5 years of junior high & high school French in my educational resume, I remember some words as clear as day, but others I only really get the gist of the message. Which is how I feel when I think the universe is sending me a message. Sometimes, it’s an obvious feeling…don’t go down that alley or the realization that hitting every single red light on Fair Oaks Blvd for the last five miles probably is a good thing.
Most of the time, I have no idea why shit happens. And I’m not talking about really bad stuff like someone getting hurt in a drunk driving accident or coming down with some rare incurable disease like whatthehellhappenedtome syndrome. I’m talking about why I see Ford Mustangs every freaking place I go. Are they really that popular in Sacramento or is it someone’s cruel idea of a joke?
I tell myself that a Mustang is just a Mustang and not some cosmic reminder of a past date thinking about me, longing for my company. (Insert your own eye rolls here) It’s obvious my subconscious hates me and wants to torture me. Hmm. Maybe now that I’ve gotten that stress off my chest, I will be free from my subconscious’s grip on reality. Then again, I could just be losing my mind. As long as I don’t freak out while driving around town anymore, I’ll be happy.