Ever since I moved into this apartment, I have been randomly breaking small insignificant things. A knick-knack, a brandy snifter. That sort of thing.
Now, I am not normally a clumsy person, and stuff was literally jumping out of my hands. ashacat offered to have her father bless the place for me; he's a Hindu priest. I smudged: though I am not really practicing anymore, I am not adverse to prayer as a harmless palliative.
Hey, sometimes a little superstition helps.
Shortly before I went to the UK, I managed to break a glass and take a chunk out of my foot. No pain, mind you, but I bled all over the place. Anyway, since I got home, nothing broken. I actually thought about that today.
Well, when I got home from archery tonight, a lamp that had been on my bedroom windowledge was smashed on the floor. And just now, while I was sitting on the sofa, I heard something crash in the kitchen. Well, I eventually got up to look.
A glass that had been sitting in the sink, away from everything else in the sink, had shattered into three pieces.
Okay, I can take a hint.
Now, none of this stuff has been really destructive or creepy. And everything that's broken has been small, nonessential, or ugly. So I'm not upset. Just, yanno, inconvenient to keep breaking stuff.
So. I'm naming him Claude. Hopefully that and a little conversation will make him feel wanted, and he'll stop breaking my stuff. ashacat, if he doesn't, I may need your dad's help after all.
I have warned him, by the way, that there will eventually be a cat.
it is the heart that kills us in the end
just one more old broken bone that can not mend.
In other ghosty news, the Charles W. Morgan is apparently haunted. (remember the model from the Boston science center, buymeaclue and truepenny.
And yes, we can go to Mystic when you come visit for the Shakespeare exhibit at Yale.