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In an ongoing effort to open my third eye (and however many other extra eyes may be hiding about my person), I'm dusting off the old tarot deck and stretching my mind muscles with another amateur tarot reading.
I meant to do this Sunday at the full moon - especially since it was a super snow moon, which sounds like it's probably important - but the Oscars were on and I was too busy judging rich people's fashion choices while cramming my face full of gluten-free cookies. I have a solution, though; the full moon is meant to open your mind and offer a jolt of divine inspiration, right? Well, I have the perfect analog for that sort of mystical energy: knocking back several hard seltzers in quick succession. Brain sufficiently lubricated, let's see what these cards have to say about our future.
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If you’re sick of hearing about self-care and have already started internally bitching at the title of this article, I can’t say that I blame you. I’m admittedly skeptical of some tips (looking at you, jade vagina egg), but while it’s easy to grumble about new-age, snake-oil bullshit attempting to capitalize on a movement that millennials actually care about, there’s obviously a real need for self-care. If there wasn’t a demand out there, self-care wouldn’t have soared to a $10+ billion industry over the last decade.
I know that this might not seem like a topic well-suited to my blog, and you’re probably wondering what the fuck I, an anxiety-ridden mess of a human,* could possibly offer in the way of useful advice. Rest assured - I’m not here to tell you to take a bubble bath or wash your face more often. Relaxing and recharging is all well and good, but I’m more interested in the type of self-care that empowers, the kind that boosts your self-confidence and gives you the energy to conquer the world. Tarot Reading 8.26.19 I’ve decided I’m going to try to be a psychic.
Look, I know that it’s supposedly a “gift” or a “calling”: a talent that’s inherited more than learned. But who’s to say I don’t have a little bit of the shining, eh? I get deja vu sometimes. I get those gut feelings everybody talks about, and they seem to be pretty accurate about 70% of the time. Like, whenever I eat at Taco Bell, I can see with perfect clarity what will be happening in my bathroom in 2 hours. Latent psychic abilities, or the perils of mystery meat? Who’s to say. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
It’s a fun icebreaker question, and it’s one that I get asked a lot. I’m not surprised that people wonder; I’m an unapologetic - some might say rabid - fan of paranormal investigative shows. I’ve watched every episode of Ghost Adventures, Ghost Hunters, and Buzzfeed Unsolved, as well as some terrible, straight-to-Netflix shows I can’t remember the name of. You know the type: interviews with wack-a-doos that look like they were filmed in the 1980s and spooky re-enactments with real low production values. I can’t get enough of that stuff. The screech of a spirit box, the shrill of an EMF meter - those are my jam. So yeah, it sure seems like I should be somebody who believes in ghosts. An epitaph:
Here lies Sarah's enthusiasm for life. Estimated time of death: 10:54 a.m., Central Daylight Time, June 21, 2019. |
AuthorSarah Fettke is an aspiring horror author from Kansas City, Missouri. This is a place to collect her explorations of the queer, peculiar, and strange. Archives
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