Well, not really. Clowns aren't my problem. As a child, my bedroom was in the basement. The deck was over my window, and just beyond the deck was a plum tree. The bicycle rack was on the patio just outside my window. I frequently freaked out over the moving shadows from the branches of that plum tree. They cast dark movements on the back wall of my bedroom, where I could only imagine the worst. I was always looking for a tell-tale human shadow to appear, and dreaded any noises coming from the bikes as a harbinger of certain death. For a time, my bed was directly underneath the window, where I faced the back wall. Should someone be sneaky, they could crawl up to the window without a shadow, then burst in upon me. It's no wonder I read late into the night, afraid to close my eyes.
Tonight, my problem is fear of another sort. I have a lot on my mind, and I fear some of my future will be decided tomorrow (actually, later today). Perhaps I read too much into vague omens. I wonder how the Greeks of Delphi though? Having convinced themselves that the mumblings and incoherent rantings of a madwoman was indeed the voice of the future, how did they handle knowing the hand of the gods was about to strike, yet not knowing what form it would take. (Forgive me for any liberties I take with the actual history of the Oracle. This was merely the first example of a vague prophetic source I could think of.)
So what does my prophecy mean? I know not. Or rather, I suspect much, and know little. And what I do know I have decided not to tell this audience. Not for the moment at least.
It's rare that I lay awake at night, unable to sleep. I am strangely unafraid. Perhaps I shall make headway on the 18 inch stack of magazines on my bookshelf. If lucky, I shall finally drift off to sleep in time for my alarm at 6:47 a.m.