When I was a child I used to see horrific things in the house I grew up in, things that would leave me screaming in the middle of the night. My parents would come in almost nightly to explain that there is no such thing as ghosts, and no, there most definitely was not a Chinese lady in our house who was out to get me. I can still see her plain as day, walking down the hall in the middle of the night coming for me. My parents weren’t equipped to handle having a psychic kid, and one day my Mother made it crystal clear. She was not going to have any crazy children in her house, and this had to stop immediately or she would make it stop. Overnight the visions stopped, but pretty soon I started drinking.
A couple decades later I took a community development class in college and we each had to choose a community for our class project. I apparently missed the day for picking something good, so I ended up with White Center, the community I grew up in affectionately known as Rat City to those that live there. It still has a colorful reputation too. 26 different languages are currently represented among the students at my old elementary school. Researching White Center turned out to be a great project for me. I felt like Alex Haley discovering my Roots and I discovered many interesting things.
Back in the day it turned out that Seattle bars closed at midnight, but in King County they stayed open til 2 am. White Center, lying halfway in Seattle’s city limits and halfway on county turf – made it the closest spot for people to party for two more hours, so it’s no wonder it became the Pacific Northwest’s bootlegging, alcoholic, crime ridden, let’s build the housing projects over there spot of choice – all while the city and county argued for decades over whose responsibility it was. I also learned that White Center has always historically been the first home of the lowest common immigration denominator. Doing my research I also discovered the block I grew up on was pretty much built and originally owned by Chinese railway workers.
Discovering that piece of information was interesting to say the least. It turned out there was a good reason for a Chinese Lady to have been in our house. Sobriety also got me in touch once again with my very own sixth sense. It did drive Choire and our other roommate Kent a little crazy in the early 90’s though. I’d tell them who was on the phone before it would ring. I’d be singing a song before they turned on the radio and heard it. We had a garage sale once and the three of us were sitting on the front steps watching the bargain hunters descend. Late in the day a lady in an old Mercedes drove up. Choire said, “I bet she’s going to buy the Keane portraits.” Kent said, ” I put my money on the chest of drawers.” I said, “She’s going to look at everything before she makes her way to the 25 cent box and she’ll spend about five minutes there and pull out that little beaded coin purse and say ‘Oh, this will be perfect for my daughter.” They both ran screaming when she did just that.
One one hand it was cool, but I hated feeling like Carrie White though. A year and a half ago I enrolled in the intensive psychic seminary program at the Berkeley Psychic Institute and doing so has put me on a journey beyond my wildest imagination. The best part though is that I used to feel like all of this was always happening to me, and now these skills are mine to use, or not use, to do with as I wish.
I called in sick to work this morning and to be honest I don’t feel so good. I think the year end report writing, puppeteering, East West 2.0 launching, and now the stress of our new Ernie-Aid Telethon has finally taken its toll. I’m feeling like a little dead today myself. I was telling my body to get going this morning, but it made it clear that wasn’t going to happen. Apparently ya gotta give your body sleep, nutritious food and a little exercise – and not just live on Clif bars, cigarettes and ice tea. Who knew? I hope I’m better before the psychic fair this weekend. I have to put in my scheduled hours.