Time flies or do flies time?

I joined a paranormal group on Facebook and after reading a number of the posts I have come to the conclusion that my life isn't an Oddz Bodkinz kind of life, rather it is a paranormal kind of life.  Funny that I should think that anything with the word normal in it would have anything to do with me.

In fact, my normal is paranormal and I often wonder how the real people live.  How do they manage to go through life without knowing someone is going to call and have the phone handy.  Or be given a heads up when something awful is about to happen.  And, to tell the truth, they are never realy clear about WHAT is going to happen, I just have to wait and see.

Doesn't everyone hear someone call their name?  Have their door swing open?  Find meaning in repeating numbers?  Feel what those around them feel?  Talk to animals?  Know how they died in a past life  (Titanic no less)?  Well no wonder people look at me funny.

There has just been SO MUCH in my life that I could write a book.  Title it something like.... When the Paranormal is Normal.

So, instead of a book, I will write it here.  No one will read it anyway but that's ok.  Sometime you just have to sit down and get something out, even if you are the only one to ever read it.  I suppose, for me, it would make it seem.... oh I don't know... true, even though I know it's true.  Whatever the reason, here goes.

The very first experience I remember is the giant crab that crawled out of my bedroom wall.

It was summer in Baltimore without air conditioning.  We used to go watch boring movies at the local library branch simply because the room was air conditioned.  No air conditioning in the home but a big bad assed fan that was installed in my bedroom window.  The fan blew out so it sucked all the hot air from the house through my bedroom and out into the night.  To take advantage of the air flow, I slept with my head at the foot of my bed.  Never being a good sleeper I often woke in the middle of the night and laid there like a lump waiting for sleep to return.  It was such a night when that crab, claws clicking appeared out of the wall at the head of the bed.  It scared the crap out of me and I went screaming into my parents room.

I was sent back to bed with a terse "It was a dream".  Bullshit.  I was old enough to know a dream, to know pretend and what I saw was not pretend.  It was a crab coming out of my wall. 

Of course, I never said anything about it again.  I said nothing about the other odd stuff that would happen.  The stiff, starched, for display only dolls on the top of my book case that would come alive at night and dance or just move about.  Or my grandmother riding past in the passenger seat of a cae when she had already been dead for 6 months or so.  Or the way I simply knew things.

Needless to say, I learned to keep my mouth shut.  Why bother telling anyone when they wouldn't believe you and give you 'that look'.  You know which look I mean.  The look that tells you they don't believe that they are hearing what they are hearing and then they back away from you very very slowly as if your insanity is contagious.  I grew to hate that look and yet I wanted to share what was going on.  It made me feel special.  I was never special.  I always couldn't do or be something good enough but I could sense things and see things and know things that others couldn't or maybe they wouldn't.

Now I don't care about that look.  I'll proclaim to the world, or my small section of it, the oddities that pop up.  the unexplained things that make perfect sense to me.  It's my way of saying to the world that I am different and I don't care.  In fact, I like being odd.  It sure beats the heck out of normal.