I don’t believe in magic. I really don’t. I don’t believe in ghosts, or demon possesions, or any kind of boogeymen. I don’t believe in God, or a higher power, or any kind of spirit external to the body. I am firm, and confident in these beliefs.
And yet. When I went to grab my madonlin off of a top shelf of a rarely used cabinet to make pie last night, a chicken wishbone fell off of it on to my head. My roommates know nothing of the origin of this wishbone. None of us have like, cooked a whole chicken or anything. This, combined with the live bird that we discovered flying around the kitchen one morning last week, that we have NO. IDEA. how it got into the house mean that I didn’t sleep last night, totally terrified. Chicken bones says voodoo to me, which is entirely informed by I’m sure inaccurate episodes of crime procedurals. And I DON’T BELIEVE IN THAT! But this is not stopping me from being totally terrified. Why am I so scared of somthing that I know, in my heart of hearts, does not exist?