(no subject)

I'm looking for a time to pull out my Tarot cards, lay them on the kitchen table, a circle of twelve cards, and read the months ahead. Forget 2003. Forget the past. If you want to know how my year was, go back and read - you lazy bum. My eyes are ahead, peeking at 362 monolithic days.

If a terrible card appears, like the Tower, I might lay a second one on top, for more explanations. I'll return to the books I've been reading since I was young, and which follow me around the world. I won't take the reading too seriously; even my interpretations can show the markings of a fool. The Fool, incidentaly, appears a lot for me.

My new year's eve was awful. I went to a nightmarishly dull party. I didn't want to go and I should have read the Tarot cards. The oracles might have warned me of the dance mat, the dancing game on the tv, the Trivial Pursuit board... I was executed.

I'm happy these days with staying at home. I have tons of books to read, puzzles to solve, thoughts to digest, friends to miss, food to purchase, lover to kiss, sister-in-law to converse with. I leave soon for Brazil - though I haven't got a ticket yet. I leave my job even sooner. I'm hoping the Tarot will open a view to the future, the uncertain, and give me an idea of what comes after Brazil's sun, time spent with my family and friends, moving into a new apartment in February.

Do I go to Brazil in February?
Do I find a new job in March?
Do I go to Italy in May with a bus-load of goths I haven't met yet?
Does my brother visit me in the Summer?
Do I carve my name on a tree in August?
Does Morrissey's new album impress me, or depress me?
Do I grow in love and desire?

Do I still write in this journal?