I don’t even know where to start with this blog, so I’ll start with the truth. I woke up early this morning to talk to a psychic. This isn’t something I make a habit of–getting up early, or talking to psychics–but I did it nonetheless. And whereas I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes trying to figure out what to say about the experience, I’ve yet to come up with anything coherent. Maybe this is because my fifth chakra (my throat) is APPARENTLY “clogged like a drain pipe.” (This is what I woke up to hear.)

Does anyone know where I can get some energetic Drano?

More likely I can’t figure out what to say because I’m hesitant to discuss the topic. First of all, even though it wasn’t weird for me, I get that psychics or intuitives are a stretch for a lot of people. They’re not mainstream. And yet all of us–all of us–are intuitive. Any of us can walk into our homes and instantly tell if a loved one is down or upset or over the moon, and that’s basically what professional intuitives do–they read people. Anyway, I’m also hesitant to discuss the experience because I’m still processing it. There weren’t a lot of surprises, but it was still a lot of information. Five years ago I would have taken all of it as gospel and been done with it, but now I see it as something that needs to be “sifted” through.

Y’all, I tried to take a nap after my appointment with the psychic, but get this shit. There was a knock at the door, and the next thing I knew, my dad started talking to two Mormons right outside my bedroom window (and not quietly). And then–and then–he invited them inside. “They were FEMALE Mormons,” Dad said later. “That’s not something you see every day!” Well, our walls are paper-thin, so there was no way I was going back to sleep, what with Dad and his big, booming voice. “You’re gonna need all the luck you can get around here–this is Southern Baptist territory! But don’t worry about me–I was in prison with a Mormon!”

Meet my father.

Surely, I thought, these ladies will leave now. But oh no–they stayed. Seriously, it went on–and on–and on. They talked, Dad talked, our dog barked, Dad talked some more. At one point I strongly considered walking into the living room in my underwear and introducing myself as a homosexual who consults mediums, just to see if they would be horrified and leave, but I didn’t–I controlled myself. Later, when the Mormons left for lunch and I got out of bed, Dad said, “Marcus, they had to walk to Wendy’s–on foot. Can you believe that? I guess the bicycles are just for the boys.”

Rubbing my tired eyes, I said, “Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”

This afternoon I went to Fayetteville to have more blood drawn for tests regarding my immune system, something I asked the psychic about this morning. She said the only thing she got was the word “exposure,” and took this to mean that perhaps I’d been exposed to chemicals or mold (or both) at some point in my (current) lifetime. I hope she’s wrong, but really–exposure–what a funny word–as if our bodies were like film in a camera and could be forever altered by something they’ve come in contact with. Anyway, I had my blood drawn, then–because I’ve been on the internet again–picked up a new supplement (an amino acid) to hopefully help with my histamine-laden skin.

Afterwards I ate the first of my three dinners for the evening at a food truck (pictured above), then I met some friends for drinks and dinner number two. THEN I came home, had a short business meeting, and met another friend for drinks and dinner number three. At this point I’d like to point out that NONE of the meals I ate were on my “good in theory” Autoimmune Paleo diet. However, I feel justified in deviating (a lot) from my original plan, since the psychic told me I “may” have food sensitivities, and there’s obviously only one way to find out.

So as far as I can tell, I’m not immediately or deathly allergic to hot chicken, macaroni and cheese, beef sliders, cheese fries, or chicken barbecue pizza. Nor am I allergic to beer with blueberries, which–by the way–are apparently good for my fifth chakra problem because they are blue and so is the fifth chakra. (Again, I got out of bed for this wisdom.) Anyway, THEN I went to see a drag show because, hell, why not? Now it’s five in the morning, and I’m done, ready to sleep. Still, I’m grateful for this day and my exposure to Psychics, Mormons, and Drag Queens. I feel ever-so-slightly changed by them–more open, tolerant, and kind. So perhaps our bodies are like film, all of us constantly redeveloping from one exposure to the next.