Thursday, March 12, 2009

Tick Tock

How many more novels do you think I can write in just under fifty-one years?

You know what's kind of (additionally) creepy about this? One summer in high school my mom took Kate, me, and a few of our friends to New Hope, where we had our fortunes read. The palm reader asked me if I wanted to know how old I'd be when I died, and naturally I said yes, and guess what number she gave me?

Seventy-nine.

Guess how old I'll be in 2060.

2 comments:

Kate said...

That is so morbid! So I remember the details of that day differently. I thought she told me I was going to die at 74 and you at 84, but then you remember her telling me 84 and you 79. More importantly--who tells a 11 and 15 year-olds when they're going to die?

Susan said...

Ok, I was there and I remember Kate 84 and Camille 79. Yes, creepy and as I remember I said I wanted no parts of it myself and said "I'd rather be surprised" and she said mysteriously, "sometimes it's better not to know..." which in itself was creepy (Hey, I wanted to say, I did not pay my 10 dollars, I want no hints or creepy warnings!!" The best recent creepy episode though was at the haunted jail in Mount Holly around Halloween. I never laughed so hard in my life!!