dictionary: tool of the devil
Do we really only see the things we are looking for?
For awhile yesterday I was thinking that the dictionary was psychically posessed — how is it that it manages to fall open to exactly the words I was trying to remember the meanings or names of, when there are so very, very many words in it? In just a couple of hours I accidentally flipped past the name of an abolitionist whose deeds I had forgotten (Wilberforce) and the name of a medication whose name I had been trying to remember daily for a few weeks (Chlorpromazine).
But I'm starting to become, well, either very suspicious of coincidence, or deeply worried about how much my conscious is ignoring 95% of the time. Today I was talking to Andrea about coincidence — in fact, talking to her about a time I was talking to Lara about coincidences involving one specific person and then we ran into that person in the middle of the conversation. In a city of 8 million people.
Naturally if you're talking about coincidence at all and then you have one it's extra creepy, but then I dropped Andrea off and went on my merry way. I should mention at this point that at some stage of my trip home from New York I got it in my head I wanted one of those shower caddies that stands in the corner of your tub enclosure, floor to ceiling, with a few wedge-shaped shelves. In fact, I had almost gone to the organizing store in the mall that very morning to look for one, but couldn't decide whether to do that or go look at CDs, and Andrea told me I should just go home.
But I decided to go look at CDs, and between dropping Andrea off and reaching the CD store... was one of those shower caddies that stands in the corner of your tub enclosure. In the park. The PARK! Standing up against a tree. So I put it in my car and went to the CD store. (Where I saw, but didn't buy, a CD by the band of a guy I worked with once whose name I had been trying to remember that morning...)
Either I control the universe, or I am missing out on a lot of information.