Okay, so there are other things I can feel. I can feel places. I can feel when a place has been changed. It’s almost like the place knows what it was, and now it knows it’s different. There are very few validations with this, but unlike plants, places have things I can check on. I was walking through an old plantation that had been restored. My husband and I walked into the kitchen area. There was a large fireplace and a woman dressed in the attire of the time period. They were recreating sometime in the 1800s. The table was set; there were spices hanging from the ceiling; a small boy was helping his mother with the flour for bread. The entire time in my mind I just kept hearing the words,”This isn’t right. This isn’t the kitchen.” Over and over again. That’s always what happens. It’s like this ticker tape that I can’t stop until I figure out what’s different. It drives me crazy. I told my husband. He always knows he has to calm me down when I get into this zone. I just keep saying, “This isn’t right. This isn’t the kitchen.” We continued through and up a flight of wooden steps. As soon as I reached the landing and a small room that had nothing in it, I started to feel better. The ticker tape stopped. There was a young girl in the same attire as the woman in the kitchen. I saw a door to my right. I knew that it led to a dark place. I knew I was standing in the kitchen even though it didn’t look anything like one. I was about to walk by, but I couldn’t help it. “Excuse me,” I said. “Was that the original kitchen.” She shook her head. “No, this room you’re in now was the original kitchen. They built the one you just walked through in the 1800s. That door over there takes you to the root cellar.” I nodded and looked at my husband, who is always so thrilled when I’m right. I think he knows it just makes me more meddlesome. “Well, the house hates it,” I say as I walk by. She gave me a puzzled look. My husband laughed. “You always have to be that weirdo, huh?” I laughed because I do.