Tarot Reading

I have received a many a deck of tarot cards from my good friend Joseph, but I only really ever connected with, or I guess you could say appreciated, one of those decks. It turns out I can be an ungrateful shit, no surprise to those of you who have read my other chapters. Just kidding. I read somewhere that a little self-depreciation can be endearing, so I figured I would throw some fake self-hate out there and wallow in your adoration. Your humble hero is indeed a man of the people. Flawed in a relatable way, but still sufficiently awesome to serve as an aspirational guide for lost and weary readers looking for a guiding light on their journey to fantabulousness. The deck in question was a deck of angel tarot cards. The glittery, sparkly, shiny fairy/angels spoke to me in a way boring ordinary tarot cards never did. I don’t know why. Actually, that’s a lie, I do know why, they were glittery, sparkly, shiny fairies just like me. People talk about the need for representation in the media, black people needing to see black faces on TV, disabled people needing to see disabled people in movies etc Fabulous fairies need to see fabulous fairies in their tarot cards. It’s a thing. Science has my back on this one.

Those of you with undiagnosed ADHD will understand this. There have been times where I have fixated on the cards for an afternoon, but more often than not I have failed to get beyond the first shuffle. It’s usually when my life is spiralling out of control and I am looking for something to distract me from taking any real or useful action, that I dig out the dick, sorry deck. I use penises to distract me from the troublesome parts of life I would prefer to avoid too, but that’s not what this chapter is about. I find the vague and insubstantial guidance the cards give me quite soothing. When you need reassurance that you are right, the angel cards are there. When you need confirmation that you have suffered an injustice, the angel cards are there.

The incident that prompted me to seek out the fairy angels, were more accurately a series of incidents. I never paid attention in science class but I vaguely remember something about motion begetting motion? Bad shit is like that, it sort of builds its own momentum, gaining strength from the extra shit it vortexes into its force field. Basically, shit spirals and draws more shit towards you with increasing intensity and frequency.

In the space of a week I had a massive fight with my friend and roommate Emma (that more than 2 months later we still haven’t recovered from), my request for a pay rise was not only refused, I received an email calling me arrogant and delusional for even asking, and I had a massive fight with my manager Sharon that almost came to blows. When it comes to fisticuffs, I am a somewhat a stereotypical gay man, and my manager is a stereotypical lesbian. It was actually quite frightening in the moment, knowing she could and would beat the crap out of me. She didn’t, but the genuine possibility was disturbingly close for a bit, and she did make some verbal threats towards me. Just your regular on the job quibbles and life bumps really, if The Real Housewives of New York is to be believed. Which it probably is, because why would reality TV lie to me?

Thus, my week was looking rather bleak. Thinking self-destructing would fix my problems, I grabbed a beer, followed by a bottle of white, followed by a bottle of red, accompanied by a pack of cigarettes and a Grindr boy toy that brought drugs. The plan was to get myself in a state where I would be incapable of work the next day if I had the misfortune of waking up at all. My life was in the shit hole, so I broke out the shovel and started digging my way to China. If I was Thanos from The Avengers (when he clicks his fingers, he can wipe out half the population) I would have clicked my fingers 200 times just to make sure I did the job properly and no sneaky bastard evaded my destructive wrath.

I called in sick for the next two days. I got smashed, I took myself out to brunch #TreatYoSelf I went to a movie #TreatYoSelf I went shopping #TreatYoSelf I did all of the things I could think of to make myself feel better but none of it helped.

In desperation I turned to the angels. I opened a beer and dug out the tarot cards. Now just to clarify, just because they represent the angels doesn't mean the answers are always happy and good. You can get a bad reading from these bitches, and they will smite you down like Voldemort's wand. Voldemort in the OG Harry Potter movies, not the porn versions. Voldemort from the porn versions could smite me with his wand any day and you can bet your arse I would be smiling about it. I grabbed the deck and held it for a moment, trying to send my broken vibes throughout the cards, hoping the angels could understand my scrambled thoughts and tell me why what was happening to me was happening and what I could do about it. I am from the if all else fails then read the instructions school of thought. So, there is no real method to my madness when selecting the cards. A quick shuffle, see what happens and go from there. This time two cards fell out, one very viciously, the second a little later and I went for a third but it didn't want to show itself so I decided to put the deck down and pull the first card at the top as my third. I generally like a threesome when it comes to these things, it just works better.

The first card that was pulled was the five of earth. The five of earth represents fears surrounding money, the wisdom to accept help from others and uncertain self-employment. The card had a temple on it, like something out of Indiana Jones. A menacing temple with a gaping hole to its entrance. I'm not sure what the artist was going for, but to me it looked like a holy place bent over exposing its arse and begging sinners to enter. What was this card trying to tell me about the last few days events? Was it trying to tell me my boss was an incapable, moronic and a mindless child that needed to be shat out the arsehole and ejected from a holy place of goodness? Sounds pretty accurate to me. Was there uncertainty surrounding money? I had just spent two days in #TreatYoSelf mode, was heading to America for a holiday I couldn’t afford, and was stuck in a low-income job I was beginning to hate. Yep, uncertainty around money fit too. But whose help was I supposed to be trying to accept? The lesbian boss Sharon who threatened to deck me? The area manager who called me delusional? Or the flatmate who was blaming me because her actions had consequences? Emma was the one who bitched about the wrong person, tried to throw David Brent and Tammy under the bus when she got caught, and then played the victim when it cost her a promotion. Emma got caught being a bitch, blamed the people who decide on promotions, then acted baffled when it cost her.

The second card I pulled from the deck was the two of water. The two of water is about forgiveness, relationships growing close, and the positive resolution of a conflict. This card had two seductive looking mermaids swimming with what looked like a killer whale but on closer looking was actually some sort of fucked up dolphin. The ocean above, calm yet mildly rocking, indicating maybe the storm was now coming to an end. This card gave me some hope. Hope that things could work out at work and at home. Maybe Emma and I could resolve stuff. Our argument had been about KRONOS stuff. Emma told me about a bitchy conversation she had with a cunt called Helga, about a Facebook post Katie had made, which detailed a small celebration at work. I told Katie and the shit hit the fan. Emma felt that I had betrayed her. She didn’t get the promotion she had applied for, but she didn’t get in any real trouble either. Katie however, got a visit from HR, Virginia, Napoleon, and David Brent where she was lectured about choosing her friends more carefully. Apparently, the problem was that she was friends with me, not that Emma was gleefully slagging her off behind her back for trying to celebrate a trainee passing her assessment. KRONOS punished the person being bitched about far harder than they punished the person doing the bitching. Helga, the cunt, Emma was bitching with, filed a complaint that I was bullying her, because I had exposed her for the way she treated people behind their backs. Helga was a whining miserable British bitch, who hated her husband and kids. She was one of those aging mean girls who thought she was better than everyone, and revelled in cutting other people down. She blamed her kids and husband for her lack of a life, rather than seeing that she had no friends because she was miserable. Because KRONOS can be sadistic, Helga was moved to Dee Why, so Katie had to work every day with the woman who got caught speaking shit about her. Helga and Emma still think they are the victims in all of this. Life is not reality TV; you are not the victim of a bad edit. If you don’t want people to think you are a miserable gossiping bitch, don’t be a miserable gossiping bitch.

This fight was big for Emma and I. Emma hid in her room and avoided me. I got drunk and sent her several apologies over messenger but she ignored them. I passed out and woke at 3am with a shudder. My sleep apnoea was clearly in cahoots with the miserable universe and was trying to kill me while my back was turned. Fuck that, I’m not going to die until I decide I’m going to die of a self-destructive method of my choice. There was a message on my phone from Emma. Passive aggressive as usual, and attempting to make it look like she had the moral high ground in this cluster fuck, ‘I don't like you when you’re like that’.

Wrapped in my glorious pashmina dressing gown and feeling suitably dramatic, I sat in my room and messaged her even though she was just on the other side of the wall.

‘Excuuuuse me!’. ‘Like what Emma, like what?’. Followed by a few argumentative statements which just served to undo all the work I had done apologising before bed. It spiralled from there, and thus began the fallout of international news making proportions. Like a coward who knows that they are in the wrong, she avoided me. She would either go to her mum’s house or lock herself in her room refusing to talk to me. The silence became a deafening scream. She silenced me by refusing to listen to me, so I drank more and more. I felt like I had no voice at work, no voice at home, and that I was being punished unfairly everywhere I turned.

A few days later I decided once again to try to be “the bigger person”. I messaged Emma to try and resolve our conflict. I sent a simple message asking when she would be home because I wanted to discuss what had happened and put an end to the drama. Once again, she passive aggressively ignored me. Short of employing a kidnapper to tie her to a chair and tape her eyes open, I had no way of making her acknowledge me or listen to me. She wanted to wallow and play victim, so she did. Naturally, a lot like Le Misérables the whole drama just sort of petered out non dramatically. Emma just decided to message one day, saying, ‘Let’s get some America trip stuff planned’. The trip had been booked ages ago, and she only ended her sulk when it threatened to derail her tip. A bit like a half-hearted orgasm after an unenthusiastic hand job, it was an unsatisfying ending to the saga.

The third card was even more engaging and convincing than the two before. It was the card of the lovers. For those of you who are interested, I have it tattooed on my right upper leg. I also got the date gay marriage was legalised tattooed on my arm. I’m a lover who believes in equality for all and will score you on your anal target seeking accuracy. The card, the archangel Raphael, represented intimate relationships, carefully weighing your decisions, and good health. Which was basically just a repeat of what card one and two were about, but obviously angels are not subtle and like to ram their point home with repetition. Generally, not a problem for me (Target tattoo et al) but sometimes annoying when you are looking for a little more gentle understanding from your angelic guides.