An Order to Things: All in Due time

An Order to Things: All in Due time

         Kay only had a 20 minute turn around- 30 minutes max. Ten minutes to speed walk home, 5 minutes to change, and 5 minutes to sprint to the dojo down the street from her apartment. If everything worked out, she would casually walk in, and just happen to arrive in time to ask Trent to be her sparring partner. He'd say yes.

         After karate they'd go get dinner at that cool but casual new restaurant next door, and then he'd suggest they "do this again." They'd go out again in 3 days, and be married in year and a half, maybe two years if the Rose Garden was available as a venue in spring.

         Kay's brother Tom called it her "weird super psychic power." She didn't have OCD. She didn't fixated on a schedule. No. The fact was, she just "knew" what she was supposed to do. She knows things with the same certainty that someone "knows" the number 2 follows 1, and E comes after D. You definitely wanted her on your team when playing league of legends.

         No, she couldn't pick lottery numbers. She didn't do negatives, meaning "don't go there," but she knew when to take the bus instead of the Max, then walk the rest of the way to Powell's. Why? Who knows, but she just knew she was supposed to do it.
         Unlike her parents, who didn't take Couch like Kay knew they should. Instead they took the Divison exit, resulting in them being carjacked, and Kay being orphaned, again, this time at 13.
Today, though, her gift wasn't working. She hit every crosswalk on red. She helped Jim and Chris untangle their dogs, who decided running in circles around a bush would be so much fun. She then helped Mrs. Tjian carry her groceries to her apartment, and where she drank a glass of water while listening for 5 minutes to Mrs. T complain about her grandkids sending "Thank You emails, instead of handwritten notes. Then to make matters worse, while looking for her key, Kay dropped her purse, scattering its contents all over the hall. Thankfully, no one was there to see her Hershey Kiss stash wobble and roll across the carpet.

         So, despite that she "knew" what to do, and what was "going to happen." It wasn't happening. She couldn't recall this ever being a problem. EVER. It was very disconcerting. It was another sense to her, as real as sight, hearing, and touch. It's as if someone took away her sense of smell... no a better metaphor... her sense of taste. That happened in college. A broken nose caused her to temporarily lose not only her sense of smell, but ability to taste. On a dare, she had eaten a very hot chili pepper that her roommate gave her. She could feel the burn in her mouth and her eyes and nose were watering, but she could taste a thing. The sensation actually made her nauseous.

         She flopped down on her couch. She was no longer in a rush, because she was already 20 minutes late to class. She'd have to attend the later session, and miss the opportunity to see Trent. But she was still confused, because her predictive sense was still telling her that everything was on track; that after karate, which she clearly wasn't at, they change in the locker room and go next door. She'd order a noodle bowl, and she'd impress him with her mad chopsticks skills.
So, why was she so wrong? This was more than just being off her game. She didn't feel sick, not that that should make a difference. She was fairly certain it had something to do with her surprise naps at work, and the weird dreams that accompanied them, but wasn't sure how.

         Deciding that maybe the problem was that she wasn't getting enough sleep, she decided to warm up left overs and go to sleep early. No watching TV, and she wasn't going to use any electronic items for the rest of the night. These were both suggestions from an article she found online. Apparently more and more people were having weird sleep issues, and doctors determined they were all associate with watching TV or using a smartphone or computer right before bed.
Tonight, she was going to go cold turkey. She'd try for a few days to use no electronics for 2 hours before bed, and see if that made a difference.

         But what if it didn't? Then what? A doctor? What does she tell the doctor? "Hey doc, my psychic power isn't working." He'd probably suggest a psychiatrist.

         She wasn't going to jump the gun. She was just going to try to resolve this problem herself.

         The real problem, for now though, was that she was supposed to duck, then weave, and then throw out a roundhouse kick at Trent's head, right about now. That obviously was not going to happen while sitting on her couch.

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