I am neither a religious man nor a superstitious one. My sense of reason doesn’t allow it. Yet on very rare occasions I feel a sense of dread that I cannot easily explain. Paranoia? The Pad Thai I ate for dinner? I cannot explain it.
I feel that there is a sense of change in the wind. A foreboding that something in my cushioned little world is about to come crashing down. I cannot put my finger on what or why, but the feeling is with me strongly. Reason tells me that there is no sense in it. My finances, while not perfect, are far from a disaster. The health of my loved ones and I is reasonably good. There is some work stress in regards to the financial health of my company, but I am not in any imminent danger of losing my job. Life proceeds pretty well, actually. Perhaps this writing will dispel the feeling.
Yet this evening it the sense of foreboding clings to me. I have tried to shake it off; I have tried to dismiss it. Yet it clings to me like the smell of smoke after an hour by the camp fire. My emotional mind tries to tell me I have been right about these things before, wants me to believe that I have some sort of premonition power. Yet for every time a feeling like this has been validated, there are probably 100 lesser instances where nothing came of it and were therefore not memorable. I do not have the power of premonition. I am not a psychic sensitive. Furthermore, I don’t believe anyone is.
My mind persists in the possibilities of what could be wrong. Job. Family. Death. Health. Yet unlike normal bouts of anxiety there are no specifics. It is just the gray cloud of doom, just over the trees. It will be gone by morning, it always is.
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