I called a psychic. This is what she said: ‘You’re frustrated. You’re hoping for a major life change, something to give you focus, because you have no idea what you’re doing or why. Your job is boring. Your love-life disappoints you. You’re lonely, afraid and uninspired.
‘Deep down you know that you’re an extremely gifted person. Deep down you know you deserve more than this, this obscurity, this lacklustre.
‘Somewhere inside of you there’s a movie star – just like Zsa Zsa Gabor, or Marilyn Monroe – talented and beautiful, but a troubled soul. People claim to love you for that paradox, for what’s on the inside screaming to get out, if only you could express yourself, if only you knew how.
‘Alas,’ she said, ‘for all your hopes and aspirations, your wild and crazy dreams, your elaborate fantasies, and your need to believe in the possibility of your unrealised potential, your life will continue on much as it has before.
‘That frustration which drove you to pick up the telephone, it won’t dissipate with age. Your boredom will nurse it and it will grow, a blossoming tree, eventually encompassing all areas of your existence, until even your friends will disappoint you.
‘I do not know how you will die or when. I cannot predict major illness. Nor do I know how many children you will spawn or with whom. My guess? More than one, less than four. Does this pertain to spouses or to children? That I cannot say.
‘Your first husband will be a good man (a simple matter of definition, yes, but most people will agree). You will meet soon. At a work function, or some vapid family affair. You will go out a few times, he will propose, you will say “yes”, the relatives will haul out their fancy clothes for the wedding, and that will be that. Quickly you will realise that he bores you. It will hit you early one evening as you are frying his Wednesday-night steak. But by then it will be too late, because you’re nearly four months pregnant and constantly fighting back nausea.
‘Despite what you have been taught to believe, your children will not fulfil you. They won’t complete you or soften you or make you feel content. You may feel protective of them, possessive of them, on occasion even proud. Sometimes they will make you laugh. But this is not enough. That promised flood of maternal piety will never overcome you. You may feel more contemplative, older, your body loaded and marked by its experience, but this doesn’t please you. It is certainly not “a life”.
‘You will not return to work. You swear that you will, but it will never happen. Instead, the nappies will pile up and then the clothes, and your afternoons will be spent ironing in front of the television. You will prefer The Bold and the Beautiful to Days of Our Lives, yet both programs hold some sentimental appeal.
‘One afternoon you’ll notice an advertisement: Free Psychic Consultation, Call Us and See. And you will, because Jenny won $5000 after talking with her psychic and Monica met the man of her dreams.
‘You are not calling because you are unhappy. It is just a little fun, you tell yourself. Because you’re bored today, or distracted, or you’re in a playful mood.
‘Nonetheless, your palm is clammy as you dial the number. The person who answers says, “You’ve called us before.” But you won’t admit it. Possibly you won’t even recall. And just like now, you’ll experience no great revelation. There will be no epiphany.
‘Just a voice on the line saying, “You’re frustrated, you’re hoping for a major life change...” Holding the receiver tightly to your ear, eyes closed, head nodding, as you try to take it all in. And five minutes pass, and ten minutes pass, and fifteen and then twenty, while somewhere across town a girl talks on the telephone. She is filing her fingernails as she speaks. Petula Clark plays in the background. The clock is ticking, and the girl is talking, saying combinations of the same words over and over again: “It is not too late for you. The future is now. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life. It is the future. The first day is tomorrow. For you, now is too late. The rest of your life is. Too. Now. You. Everything’s waiting for.”’