I don't think tarot cards like me.
I would declare I met a gypsy (in an exotic, incense-filled tent, who took my palm and laid down her precious deck of cards - her life, her soul - and shook her head so the hoops in her ears winked and laughed along) but I didn't.
Instead I clicked a few buttons in a florescent lighted room and the tarot cards spelled out doom and disaster.
The life painted in the stars for me have words like futility, helplessness, misery, imperfection! empty existance and other woefully etheral predictions.
So what do I do?
Choose the prettiest of the lot and save it away.
Yay to the Golden Tarot Deck for being Golden even if its outlook wasn't bright and sparkly.
(No, I never was a believer.)
Labels: everyday