Ghost Sex
Today was weird. Normally, I’m excited when I try new things but today was disappointing. I was talking to my therapist on Wednesday. Please don’t think badly of my therapist because I really like him. I was expressing how I’ve been hung up on my dead family for thirty-plus years and can’t get over it and, OK for real, I Iike my therapist, so I don’t want anyone to judge his advice.
He recommended that I talk to a psychic.
I’ve always wanted to get a reading ever since I first saw commercials for Miss Cleo and for a while, I really believed all that psychic stuff was true. At least I wanted so badly for it to be true and I hoped it was true, that it seemed like it could be true. I mean, I still hope it's true, but it's not looking so good though.
After spending a couple of semesters writing with a woman who mirrored back to me what a crazy bitch I was with all of my various woo-woo beliefs and then reading an article by this journalist who methodically explained all of a certain psychic's fakery so then when I later watched his psychic show that I normally enjoyed, I felt tricked and conned and maybe a bit devastated that it wasn’t true. Probably the whole afterlife thing isn’t true too, but, you know, without at least a measured amount of magical thinking to believe in, I get really bummed.
Anyway, I had a zoom appointment with a psychic today.
She lives in Arizona, near Sedona, which already qualifies her as highly vibrational. There were moments where it almost seemed like it could be real then it would swing so wildly wrong that it seemed what this woman was gifted in was not intuition, but more the ability to bullshit on the spot with a totally straight face and sincere inflection in her voice.
Some things seemed kind of believable. It started with her, of course, getting a message from someone in my family. Then she announced there was a ghost there, from my maternal side. Like, the last fucking ghost person I’d ever want to talk to is my mother or a distant relative of my mother. I have a list of prime dead people I would like to talk to, but this ghost lady was not one of them.
Then the psychic said stuff about the women in my family having masculine energy which kind of checked out. At one point, a dead cat was there which made me a little excited, like maybe it was an old pet, and then my dad popped in and wanted to tell me something about my brothers.
You mean my masculine-energy sisters?
According to Ms.–I forgot her name–Ms. Starfish Templeton, definitely not Ms. Cleo, my nephew was in limbo, the area where people sometimes go when they die from suicide. I don’t know if assisted suicide people go there. Also, I'm positive that my nephew didn't die from suicide and definitely not assisted. And fuck that bitch, my nephew isn’t in limbo. And even if people do die that way, I don't think they should be stuck in limbo.
Besides, how is everybody just hanging out doing nothing all day? If that’s heaven, fuck heaven. It sucks.
Do they get to eat up there? Is there a caste/class system/ Do people have ghost jobs?
She said a bunch of other stuff about my parents originally meeting in Scotland and then reuniting in a different life, and oh yeah, they’re up in heaven together now too.
I thought it was til death do us part. Does this mean people are stuck with their earthly spouses for eternity? What if they can barely have a conversation now? Do they get pressured into having sex in the afterlife just to shut their ghost partners up? Maybe it’s light-body sex like in that movie Cocoon where Steve Guttenberg bangs a blinky alien. I’m pretty sure one of the aliens died because of his banging. I hate that word. I hope no one says banging in the afterlife. And I hope Wilford Brimley ended up in heaven, I mean a nice kind of heaven. If there is one, an afterlife that is.
