Last night as soon as I got home I buried myself in a 100 year old text concerning the scientific process of palm reading for 4 hours. I didn't realize that much time had gone until I looked up at the clock. I had found the book in the basement of the library where I work, hidden in a dark corner so remote that I barely could read the spines. It was incredibly engrossing, and I was focused, determined to interprete my palm. What spurred me on to this curiousity, I'm not quite sure, but what I found out made me look at myself a bit differently. Every inch of my hand was considered and classified. Even the fingers. Most of what I discovered was spookily accurrate. The basic stuff highlighted my love for the artistic and love of pleasure, and an unusually revved-up sex drive, but when getting to the nitty gritty like life expectancy and success, the interpretations became suddenly foreboding and strange. My life expectancy was very long, near 90 years at first glance, but the part that told how you would die was bleak. My type was almost always found on suicides. It sort of contradicted each other. It caused me to think, Am I suicidal? Another less pleasant message was found in the area of success. It said my career would be easy as pie until age 30, when things would get rough. Another line confirmed that I must hurry to do everything I need to before age thirty. So now I have a sense of urgency. I still don't know what to make of all of it, but it sure is something. I feel like a strange door has been opened and I've had a bit of a glimpse.