No Black Cats Here, But . . .

I have never considered myself superstitious--for several reasons, really: I don't go out of my way to avoid black cats; cracked mirrors have never bothered me; I see no point in throwing salt over my shoulder. Though occasionally good things in my life have come in threes and occasionally bad things have come in threes, there is no overarching pattern I would point out. But I discovered I have some superstitions after all, though they are not the average, garden-variety of the types I already mentioned. Or perhaps mine are, when all is said, more of the average, garden-variety type than black cats.

First and foremost, cleaning. It is something I do for catharsis because I am weird and twisted. But it's also something I've started to avoid creating big projects out of, and this is why: every time I finish a big cleaning project (like sorting through the assorted memorabilia--read "junk"-- in my room), I get bad news. I end up moving back to my house after such news. Or breaking up with boyfriends. Or finding age-old friends have decided to become catty and backbiting. Nothing good has ever happened after big cleaning projects. Bad things always happen soon after. I shudder to think what life might be like if I ever own a house that is one big cleaning project . . .

Second, singing. Nothing good ever happens after I sing. I'm not talking choirs; I'm talking at the piano, by myself, when nobody else is in the house. Bad phone calls come after I sing. I grant that I'm not the world's next Kristin Chenoweth or Linda Eder, but my voice never seemed that bad. Except that, like I said, bad phone calls come after I sing. I think it might be karma restoring the balance of some poor, floaty entities I can't see being subjected to my voice.

Third and last, phone calls. More specifically, phone calls I am hoping for or expecting. For example, yesterday someone actually called for an interview. We spoke for a moment and then, in an effort to see if he could interview me from a closer location than West Valley, he said he was going to check on things and that he would call back. He didn't call back. Not yet. But I'm hoping. Anyway, when I expect a phone call like that, I absolutely refuse to go to the bathroom. I will not be parted from my phone. Because every time I am expecting a call like that and I cave in to the urge to use the facilities, they call! Every time! Without fail!

So there you have it. No salt, no black cats, no mirrors, no ladders . . . but I'm superstitious all the same.