When I watch movies or read books and hear stories about people who see their lives flash before their eyes, I, like most other reasonable people, think they're out of their minds (or are on a mind-altering substance that immediately makes the story completely unbelievable and me completely jealous).
After this weekend, though, I now know their stories are based on fact. It happened to me. I actually saw my life (in a future tense, not past) projected on the backs of my closed eyelids.
The backdrop of this feature film was the smoke detector in my bedroom and my terrified boyfriend's screams (Please note: this boyfriend is not the same as last semester's... Variety is the spice of life and I'm kind of a skank).
What happened, you ask? I tried to be romantic. I've always said I'm not good at heartfelt or kind gestures, but lighting candles and offering a relaxing massage to Ben, my symbolic ball and chain, seemed like an appropriate way to celebrate our anniversary. Of course, as all happy ending massages go, I passed out halfway through. My boredom-induced sleep coma came about after I realized how much I hate giving backrubs. I'm pretty sure Ben wasn't even enjoying himself since I was complaining non-stop and kept asking him if we could switch.
About four hours into my slumber, I was awoken by an extremely warm, uncomfortable sensation. Since my roommates and I don't have the financial security to allow for things like heat, I knew something was wrong.
Instantly I was aware that something was out of place in my bedroom. Ben was still there, as was my bookshelf, closet, piles and piles of clothing everywhere... so what was different?
The smoke alarm seemed to jog my senses, and I realized, normally the plastic drawers next to my bed that house my extensive bra collection and secret diary were not on fire. Once I had identified the problem, I did what any sane person would do: I freaked out, ignored all of the water bottles and glasses around my bed and began huffing and puffing.
And then it happened. As I closed my eyes to extinguish the blaze, the movie began. I saw myself in a wedding dress, graduating from Oxford with a degree in Muggle Studies and lying on the beach at the ripe age of 60 happily watching my skin turn to leather. It was all there. My dream cars, three beautiful weddings (each with a husband richer and hotter than the last and one with the cast of ""Glee"" substituted for a shitty band), no children... a perfect life of leisure.
After my boyfriend successfully managed to rip the smoke detector out of the ceiling, the vision faded and I was left with nothing besides a charred set of plastic drawers and the uncomfortable knowledge that neither of my roommates even came to check to see if I had been incinerated.
While the trauma of the event took some time to fade, the scenes of my future life have stayed engrained in my memory. I find myself sitting in class and daydreaming about whether my future will play out like it did when I set my room on fire. I didn't see Justin Bieber at any of my weddings. Does this mean my plans to kidnap and seduce him will never come to fruition? And what about my dream of inventing a Ben and Jerry's flavor that is packed with deliciousness but no calories or fat?
The way I see it, there is only one way to learn the full extent of what lies ahead for me: set something else on fire. I mean, it worked like a charm the first time, and that was an accident. If I set something else ablaze—this time, preferably something that isn't plastic and doesn't give off toxic fumes—and stand dangerously close, my life is bound to play out in my obviously psychic mind.
And don't worry about my personal safety. After realizing how close I came to causing real damage to the important things in my life like my hair and face (the flames were really that close) I traded in my favorite blankie for a fire extinguisher.
Do you have real psychic abilities and are willing to share the secrets of unleashing them with Jillian? E-mail her at jlevy2@wisc.edu, or just use your powers of telepathy. Either or.
