I have something important to tell all of you – another confession, really.

I’m a superhero.  I have secret superpowers.  Don’t believe me?

Check-it:

I’m able to leap a box of Franzia in a single bound, and 1 time out of 10, I don’t fall down.

I can open a jar (I hand it to Gradon and whine).

I own a Magic Bullet (granted, I thought it was a kinky sex toy, but still).

I’ve ridden on a speeding locomotive.

I’ve been so high that I thought I could fly.

I type real good.

And my secret super-weapon is that I have hyperosmia.

What, you may ask, is hyperosmia? It’s the super-ability to smell everything.  And I do mean everything.  In italics.

As I’ve previously mentioned, I’m one of the 6% of men who suffer from debilitating migraines.  As a result, I often see lights or “auras” just before I’m going to have a headache, and for whatever reason, the part of my brain that controls my sense of smell has short-circuited and now, I have the nose of a fucking bloodhound.  This is especially disconcerting, considering that I smoke two packs of cigarettes a day and by all rights, shouldn’t be able to smell or taste anything.

But I can.  And I do.

And all kidding aside, it sometimes freaks me the fuck out.

Let me give you a few examples…

I can smell the ozone coming from electrical outlets.  Yes, all electrical outlets.

I can smell when people left their clothes in the washer a little too long before putting them in the dryer.

I can smell dust every-fucking-where.

I can smell crickets in the summer.

Disgustingly, I can smell when women have that “not-so-fresh” feeling.

I can smell the gaminess in red meat and pork, even after it’s cooked.

I can smell printer toner from 100 yards.

Cleaning products and hand sanitizer can make me violently ill.

Fish stinks to you, but the seafood section of Kroger makes me projectile vomit.

I can smell my neighbors’ trash.

I can smell peoples’ scent on something they touched – even a piece of paper – long after they’ve gone.

I can’t drive by a cemetery without holding my breath, for obvious reasons.  Really.  Six feet isn’t deep enough.

So, as I was saying, I have a superpower.

But wait, there’s more!  I can also smell things that aren’t there.

Some people who suffer from migraines will have olfactory delusions just before or during migraines, but not me.  I smell things that aren’t there when I’m not having a migraine.

And the things I smell that aren’t there are people.  People I’ve known who are now gone.

It happened to me yesterday as I drove to work.  I was driving through the ghetto – I mean, Atlanta – minding my own business and listening to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and out of nowhere, I smelled Halston Z-14.  I’ve only ever known one person who wore that particular scent, and he’s been dead for several years.  My windows were up in my car and I was alone, but the car was filled with the smell of a cologne from the 80’s.

I felt a shot of adrenaline hit my heart, and my fingers tightened on the steering wheel.  I realized I was breathing through my mouth, and that I was scared shitless.

I said his name out loud.

And the smell was gone.

It didn’t dissipate, it was just… gone.

I decided I needed to cut down on my caffeine intake, and shrugged it off.

But, it wasn’t the only visit I received yesterday.

Around noon, I was struggling with an especially difficult document that I had to get out in a couple of hours, and was laser-focused on the subject matter at hand.  Kylie Minogue was playing on my iPod, and all I could think about was finishing this document and getting it to opposing counsel so that I could move on to the next emergency.

I then smelled Shalimar.

Again, I was in my office, with the door closed, and most of the office gone to lunch, but my office was filled with the smell of yet another parfum, as if someone had poured the ridiculously expensive stuff all over every inch of the carpet in my office.

It was the perfume my mother wore.

I stopped typing and slowly leaned back in my chair.  I closed my eyes to make sure that I was certain about the scent, but there’s really no mistaking Shalimar.

“Mom?” I said aloud.

And the smell of Shalimar was instantly replaced with the mildly stale smell of recycled office building air.

I went outside to smoke and take in the smells of the city – oil, rain, paint, sweat and stale grease – and calmed down a little.

I know what you’re thinking – I’m crazier than I’ve ever been, but I’m not.  I’ve had a full neurological exam – no tumor, and my psych exam proves that I’m not suffering from any other delusions (other than grandeur).  Besides than the migraines, there’s no reason that I should be smelling things that aren’t there.

But, I wasn’t thinking about my dead friend – I hadn’t thought of him in well over a year – and I wasn’t thinking about my mother.  I was thinking about the document on the screen in front of me and if anything was occupying my subconscious, it was the tickets I’d purchased earlier in the day to see Lady Gaga and the fact that Halloween sucks in Atlanta.

It’s okay if you think I’m getting crazier as I age – that doesn’t bother me.  Hell, I’m Southern – it’s a gawdamn point of pride.

And I love and miss the people who are no longer here in the flesh, but I really don’t think I need their visits.

Maybe it’s because of the Day of the Dead, or All Saints Day or Halloween that they decided to drop in.  Maybe they thought they could help me draft a particularly nasty contract.  Maybe they missed me.

I don’t know.

I just wish they’d go in peace and leave the living to me.

That’s my real superpower – I’ve got this living thing down to an art.