Things I Hate About Me

My brain has bouts of denial -- Once in awhile, something happens that is so surreal that it won't register for me, despite the evidence of truth. I was neither an admirer nor critic of Steve Irwin. He was a fascinating non-issue in whose direction I rarely glanced. More bizarre to me than Steve Irwin's manner of death is my own brain's refusal to accept it as fact. And, this feeling of loss and regret? Well, it's just weird. Very weird.

I have periodic intuitions -- Years ago, I called my brothers and sisters to my grandmother's bedside against the protests of my father and aunt who said I was over-reacting to a gut-feeling that she was about to die. She died the next day. Last week, I begged my son's friend to quit his job at Domino's because I was so convinced that somebody would rob the joint and shoot everyone that I offered to pay the boy until he found another job. Saturday, two employees were found dead at a Pizza Hut down the highway. Thank God I was off a few miles.

I'm a mailbox stalker -- Where did this come from? Was I one of the teenagers who sat around waiting for the phone to ring after I gave some guy my number? No. But Austin Film Festival notification letters go out via snail mail this week and what am I doing? Camping out at my mailbox in triple digit heat and heading off my mail lady.

ME: Hi! I made you cookies.
HER: Two bills, pizza coupons, and a chain letter but you don't get them for six more blocks.
ME: Nothing from the Austin Film Festival?
HER: How often are you gonna do this?
ME: Just twice a year,the Nicholl and the AFF.
HER: And those are when?
ME: Around the first of August and early September. Why?
HER: We're doing vacation calendars for next year.
ME: Wait! You forgot your cookies!
HER: I don't like oatmeal.

I guess my intuition doesn't extend to favorite cookies and placing in screenwriting competitions. Or, maybe it does and my brain is in denial.