Although she's mentioned so rarely and in such passing that I either never knew or cannot remember her name, there are stories of a seer in my lineage. The stories dissipate before I can grasp them, like an asp of smoke from a heretical cone of incense—more insinuations of a gift than evidentiary tales. So it's no wonder I don't think of her often. No wonder I don't imagine at the possibilities of my own intuitions, this heritage as remote to me as the origins of my abnormally short pinkies or my unruly hair. But I thought of her today. * I tend to fancy myself an intentional person—a person who does things with purpose. But don't we always flatter ourselves with thoughts of who we wish we were? Maybe that's not your problem. But it's certainly mine because the truth is I'm a leaper, not a looker. Being intentional is exhausting and I'm always already tired. So I make most decisions, even big ones, on a whim. And I do it with alarmi