August 6, 2025 #howitstarted

It always starts the same.

I'm sound asleep, dreaming of absolutely nothing, when my feline Coco – who, let's be honest, is basically my intuitive assistant –slowly tiptoes onto the bed and plops down next to me with the weight of impending spirit drama.

I don't even have to open my eyes to know. Someone's here. Actually - they're all here. My regulars. Like a ghostly brunch club with no reservations. Uninvited, hilarious, and probably the best company I've had in years. Born out of grief, somehow these guys found me - and stayed.

To my left… a 59 year old man who recently passed, pacing at the side of my bed, trying to get me to pass along a message to his daughter. Joe is very specific:

Tell her to stop dating that guy with the motorcycle and go back to Jeff. Jeff had a job and…and a good head of hair.

Across the room, floating gently in the far right corner, is Sally.

Sally looks like Glinda the Good Witch if she retired to Florida and leaned into comfy robes and sass. She rarely speaks, but when she does, it's gold.

Her voice? Think Carol Channing. (Google her, kids. You're welcome.)

She's got that glossed-lip flare – kind of theatrical, kind of dreamlike, and always a little offbeat in the best way. Imagine your grandma got cast in a Broadway show and decided to wing it. That's Sally.

And then there’s my sweet and salty Catalina. A Gen Z spirit who immediately starts talking a mile-a-minute in their native tongue about vibes and red flags.

You need to cleanse this room, it's giving overstimulated empath, no cap…

Sally didn't even lift her head while she sauntered:
If I had a nickel for every ghost who didn't finish their therapy…

Sips from her phantom mug.

Cat blinked slowly, nodding like she'd just been served a universal truth.

Yo, that tracks.

She tugged her hoodie tighter. No fr, she’s not wrong.

Joe, trying to keep up, offered:
You know, back in my day, we just walked it off.

It hung there for a second – like a dusty truck bumper sticker trying to hold its own in a room full of glitter.

I stare blankly, still processing. But from the corner, Sally nods once, serious as ever, and says:
Tracks.

Somehow, they understand each other.

I don't – but I'm too tired to tap in.

Joe throws in one last request for his daughter. Then, under his breath, adds with a smirk:
Hey, if you hear from my ex-wife, tell her I'm finally enjoying some peace and quiet!

Eventually, I sit up and announce to the room:
Love you. Mean it. But this momma needs rest. So float off, fade out, vibe high and peaceful. This human body needs her sleep, please.

They grumble, throw in a few last-minute opinions, and slowly fade out like a spiritual cast party wrapping up at 3:33 AM.

The smell of Pabst Blue Ribbon slowly fades from the room.

I gently push the cat off my chest and grab my trusty stick of selenite like a weary mother grabs her night cream. IYKYK

I pull on my sleep mask. And I do what any overworked intuitive would do.

I go back to sleep.

Moral of the story? Spiritual gifts don't come with an off switch. But humor helps. Boundaries help more. Friends in tall places? Even better. :)

And cats?

Well, now you know why witches always had one.