I Have A Ghost Child, And I Don’t Know How To Take Care Of Her.
Long before the earth’s crust was solidified, I was bored. Since then, I’ve maintained a steady state of boredom in my life like a stream of piss in a pool that no one takes accountability for. It’s a good thing then that I have a ghost child to keep me company.
Yes, it’s true.
A ghost resides in my kitchen. How do I know? Because a psychic on reddit told me.
I know.
I know
I hear you.
In fact, I heard me before I heard you. Hasn’t life taught me to take what’s mine but also all of what’s yours? Or that I should not only reject your bullshit but also carefully foist upon you mine? Yes, these are valuable lessons and ones I’ve perfected. But I was bested. I was bested by a wily sweet- tongued psychic (she’s Irish! Best beer in the world?) who with her insanely accurate questions convinced me I have a ghost child who likes me and won’t leave.
It all started like this.
It was raining. I was bored and needy. Secret sauce to me fucking things up. I glanced at my phone and saw a pop-up in the group Psychics on Reddit which I swear upon my mother’s moustache I’m not a part of. It’s just that this type of shit targets me with the precision of a kamikaze drone.
A woman had asked if her nephew had crossed over and was finally in peace. This sweet-talking Irishwoman responded with, “does your nephew like trees? I’m getting something about trees and specifically maple trees?”
“Yes, my nephew’s first word was tree. He loved maple trees and was fascinated by them!”
That’s oddly specific. Is there something to this?
Having channeled the holy spirit of Emma Horsedick I decided there was. With nothing to lose except my self-respect I dm’ed Susan.
This is how it went.
Me: “Hi! I see you’re a psychic. I’m wondering if I can ask some questions about my future?”
Her: “Yes, my services cost $20.”
Me: Great, that’s exactly the price of my self-respect. $20 works.
After 5 minutes…
Her: “Ok, thanks for the money. Can you please send me a picture of yourself, so I can sync with your vibes?”
Me: My vibe is a dash of milk chocolate mixed with copious amounts of insecurity layered with shavings of my own body hair. “Sure.”
After 2 minutes.
Her: “Ok, what’s your question?”
Me: “What do you see in my future?”
Her: “Did you apply for a new role?”
Me: “Yea I did.”
Her: “The universe is frustrated with you. You need to have more confidence in your abilities and until you display this inner confidence your repeated patterns of self -sabotage will continue.”
Me: How dare you be so insightful! I absolutely have lots of confidence … in my ability to fuck things up. “Oh ok, erm what about my love life?”
Her: “Same goes for romance. But hang on…”
Me: “What?”
She typed. Then stopped. Then typed. Then stopped. I contemplated cutting my right arm off just to have something to throw at my phone. Instead, I decided to eat some chocolate mousse which reminded me of how much I really liked having my arms still attached to my body. But do I really care about chocolate mousse? Couldn’t I just chomp my way through a cake by smashing my face in it? What if I stopped liking chocolate!? I wouldn’t need arms then, right? I could just attach twigs instead and freak people out …
Her: “Did you go to a thrift shop 2 weeks ago and buy a pink cable knitted sweater?”
Me: Dafuq? “Umm yea. How do you know that?”
Her: I’m a psychic. It’s my job. Also, you have a ghost.
Me: “I beg your kind pardon?”
Her: “A ghost near your microwave. She’s a young girl, about 12 years old. Your shoulder height and she thinks the pink sweater you bought was a disastrous fashion choice which is why I bring it up. I don’t know how she died but she says you’re funny and likes you. Almost looks upon you as a maternal figure because you have a soft nurturing presence.”
I’m a sucker for quirk but this was a bit much for even me, so I attempted to bring the conversation back to more earthly realms by blithely ignoring this startling news and deciding to process it during my daily scheduled 8pm ‘screaming into a pillow’ time.
Me: “Erm that’s great. Will I have kids?”
Her: “Apart from the ghost?”
Me: “Umm yea… like any human children?”
Her: “We don’t choose who we become mothers to”.
Me: Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool “I see”.
Her: “Any other questions”.
Me: You’ve ended my will to live, so I think not. “That’s it. Thank you. This was… interesting.”
Her: “Please feel free to return anytime.”
Me: Only if I want a mild cardiac arrest. “Will do. Thanks.”
For those who’ve wondered why I haven’t written in a while (which is no one) I’ve been busy penning a new book titled, “How To Fuck Yourself Up When You’re Extremely Bored” followed by part 2, “The Imbecile’s Guide To Ghost Children’s Upkeep And Care”. All books sold exclusively nowhere with a delivery by my ghost child who will haunt your nightmares forever if you ignore my merch.
Get your copy today!
HAHA yes, I didn’t realize how much I needed to read this until I did and it’s amazing. I know a few people who got their shit read by psychics and they were pretty spot on, like scarily so, but as a skeptic I am… intrigued.
Your psychic sounds randomly hilarious. And cheap. Are her rates negotiable? If you can get a child ghost for $20 maybe I could get a sloth ghost for $5? It's illegal to own them in Australia, but I don't think the regulations cover spectral forms.
I actually thought this was fiction. You should write more on the psychic, this was great.