Regarding My Last Post....

Yo.

This deck and I are about to fight.

Check it out.

Love....blah blah blah...more love....blah blah blah.

Who? What? When? Where? WHY? WHY?!? WHYYYYY?!?! Why do you keep giving me these cards? Why is this my only answer for literally everything? Why do you tease me with beautiful thoughts of happily ever after? 

Tarot, you know how obsessive I am. You know you keep me up nearly until the sun rises, rolling these ideas around in my brain bucket. You know how absolutely consumed I am by the thought. IT'S 4:30 IN THE MORNING PLEASE GAWDS LET ME REST.

But no. No. Instead, I'm filled with this wonderful yet horrific vision of a perfect future, and I fucking WANT IT NOW. Have I not waited decades for this moment? 

BARK THREE TIMES IF YOU LOVE ME AND I'LL UNDERSTAND IT MEANS FOREVER.

Woof, woof, woof. Ruff, ruff, ruff. I don't care how you do it, just do it. Do it, so I can stop guessing.

My friends think I'm crazy now, thanks. Pfft, as if it wasn't obvious enough before.

If I pull any more of these, I'm throwing myself into oncoming traffic.

Okay, I'm not, but I'm gonna fantasize about it really, really hard.

I love you. Clearly, I do. I dare you to look at this and tell me I don't. Bark, dammit.

🖤 Love of My Life 🖤

I have never been good at reading Tarot for myself. I'm pretty okay at it when it comes to other people, but when it comes to deciphering my own cards, it may as well be written in kanji.

Right up until I got my Oliver Hibert deck (swoon).

I am so madly in love with this deck, and I maaaaay be reading too much into this, but I think it loves me, too.

So, yeah. Ain't we cute? 🖤

Anyway, my main squeeze had been doing his own readings with the Radiant Rider-Waite deck I bought for him, and it got pretty weird. Apparently he's got a little bit of competition when it comes to my affection, in the form of me running off into the sunset with someone else. He got several similar layouts, which is just odd because I'm surrounded by fuckboys and believe me, I'm not interested. Been there, done that, never again. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take photos of his layouts because it really was weird. And consistent. But other than the occasional dick pic or some sasquatch motherfucker hitting on me, there was nothing and nobody I was interested in. Definitely no one to share affection with.

Fast forward to about 2 months ago. I'd finished one of my facebook #TarotTuesday events and decided to pull for myself.

"What can I expect in the future?"

Oh. Mah. Gawds.

Check out this bombshell.

(O.o) Say wuuuuut?

Yeah, you're seeing that right. The Page of Cups, King of Cups (partnered with the Two of Swords), and The Lovers (partnered with the Ten of Cups).

Those two extra cards refused to be separated from their partners, so I kept them around as clarifiers.

Seriously, have you ever seen a more intense love interest? Look at it! Obviously, Mr. King o' Cups has some pretty difficult decisions to make (why?), but this is the most happily ever after soul mate twin flame bullshit I have ever seen. Ever. Ever ever ever. It was so intense, I made it my FB cover photo a few days later.

Okay, time to breath again and figure out what this actually means. I wasn't cheating, I didn't know anyone who might have been harboring a secret burning passion for me...maybe I'd be getting a dog? Dogs are pretty loyal. But I live in an apartment. I can't have a fucking dog.  What (and I cannot stress this enough) the fuck?

And to make matters worse, I asked the very same question a month ago, and GUESS WHAT.

Okay, now you're just being mean.

The fuggin' Knight of Cups, Judgement (!!!), and the Ace of Cups.

I'm honestly kind of terrified by this. I don't even want to speculate on it, so instead, I've been doing what any perfectly sane person would do by holding my breath and trying not to think about Mr. Right. He's definitely not the balding fuck who bothers me on messenger every day. Definitely not the creep who sent me the dick pic on Instagram and called me a fat whore when I didn't respond. It's gotta be a dog.

So much for not thinking about it. Ugh.

Mr. Right, if you're reading this right now, I need you to bark three (3) times in rapid succession to let me know this is real. I can't stand not knowing for sure, and I really do hate to assume you're someone you're not. I understand that the Two of Swords has you in a bit of a bind - surely your current owner is lovingly giving you chin or ear scritches as I type, but dammit, you belong to me now. Clearly. 

♡ Till Death Do You Part ♡

Today I learned that men are far, far more likely to leave their wives during illness or serious injury than women with ill or injured husbands. Six times more likely, in fact, at least according to one study.

The sad part is, this information didn't come as a shock or surprise to me. We've seen it many times over with our politicians - Newt Gingrich, John McCain, John Edwards, to name a few big ones. We've seen it in headlines - from Courtney Waldon, whose husband left her after he threw gasoline on a campfire and accidently set his wife on fire in the process, to Aimee Copeland, whose ziplining accident and the amputations that followed proved to be too much for her relationship to bear. Most of us have seen it in our daily lives, as well, whether it's our own personal story, something a friend or family member is going through, or any of the numerous reddit stories or facebook dramas we've read.

While it certainly isn't a rule, it does seem that when the going gets tough, the men often get going.

And the reason I don't find this shocking or surprising?
Every single woman I know, minus one or two exceptions, has put her absolute all into every single relationship she's ever been in. Women who stick around when they've been beaten and battered because they're 100% convinced that one day, he'll come around and realize how much he's hurt her. Women who have raised children by themselves because baby daddy was too concerned with maintaining his freedom and felt trapped by the children he fathered. Women who made so many excuses when boyfriend spent all their bill money on pain pills or meth or alcohol. Women who cried alone at home on forgotten birthdays or anniversaries because hubby had other plans.

Many of us are born caretakers: loyal to a fault, willing to sacrifice our own happiness and well being until there is literally nothing left for others to take.

It's not fair, but we do this to ourselves with the expectation that a partner is just as committed as we are, and would willingly put themselves second to our needs and fuckups, if roles were reversed. But you know...of the dozens of women I've known to stay with a drug addict or abusive alcoholic for 5, 10, 15 years, I can't name one single man I've ever known who stayed with a female of the same caliber. I'm sure they're out there, but I can't name them.

It's just too bad this is a lesson that, for many of us, is almost impossible to learn until you've lived it.

Don't put your own happiness on hold for a guy who would casually force you to do so in the first place because, statistically speaking, they will ditch you the moment you need them.

♀ Sunk Cost Fallacy: Dirty Laundry Edition ♀

You'd like to think your sacrifices will be recognized eventually.
You'd like to think they'd do the same for you as you've done for them.
You'd like to think that because it wasn't always so bad, maybe it'll get better.
You'd like to think maybe one day, they'll appreciate all you've ever done.
You'd like to think you stand to gain back just a fraction of what you've put into it.
You'd like to think that all the years you've spent giving up your own happiness weren't a colossal waste.

I guess it's possible. Anything is possible. According to Infinite Probability, there's a possibility that I might one day open my dryer to find all the laundry has folded itself.

Oh. Yay, I guess.

That's what I read, anyway. But I don't think I'm going to hold my breath, waiting for it to happen.

All that time? It's gone. It's never coming back. The life you missed while waiting for that certain someone to see the value in you cannot be retrieved.

Maybe if you wait a little longer, that laundry will fold itself. One day.

But I doubt it.

And even if it does....
Let's say it does. You're 75 years old. You've spent the last 55 years of your life waiting on that laundry to magically fold itself and justify all the nights you've stayed home alone, waiting for that moment. And then one day, it happens. You open the dryer, and the laundry is folded.

You've been folding this god damn laundry for 55 fucking years, and the only thing you have to show for it now is this one time, one single, fucking time, it finally folded itself and....and what? Are you supposed to be impressed? Did you really just spend all these years waiting on this laundry to do the very basic and minimal thing you've already been doing this whole fucking time? Do you think it's going to put itself away, now, too? Maybe hang itself up in the closet? Take you to the movies and buy you roses in appreciation for all the times you cared enough to wash and dry and fold it by yourself?

Fuck the laundry. Fuck all the time you've spent on it. And fuck waiting around on it to give a shit.

☽ Eko, Eko, Sailor Moon ☾

BACKGROUND: Born Southern Baptist. My great grandmother was a tyrant about it. My mother believed in the fire and brimstone god but we only ever went to church sporadically, mostly revival and Easter and what-not. My dad was on and off with it until some time in the 80s when he found Wicca. My parents divorced when I was around 6 or 7 and he kind of bailed on Christianity soon after.
I dabbled in Wicca when I was in my early teens, progressed to obnoxious atheist in my late teens and twenties, and finally went "eh, who fucking cares?" somewhere in my late twenties and went full blown agnostic.
You can give these gods any name or super power you like. All are equally unprovable. For all I know, Tolkien was the only one who got it right. All hail Eru Ilúvatar.

Hecate and Athena and The Horned God and Bastet and Baphomet and Selene and Persephone and Odin - they're all awesome on their own, but none of them really do it for me. There's nothing wrong with them, I just don't see myself as they type of person who wants to drop to her knees and offer her eternal servitude for heavenly favors.

If I were going to worship anyone, it would be Lilith, but seeing how she herself rejected living in a garden paradise if it meant an eternity of being bossed around by a man who believed himself to be superior to her even though they were created as equals, I don't think she's the type of gal who would encourage worship from others.

So, I chose Sailor Moon.

Hear me out.

Sailor Moon is the very first manga I ever read from beginning to end that really touched me. Naoko Takeuchi's use of astrology and minerals and mythology drew me in wholly and completely, and I've been hopelessly in love with the series for well over 20 years now.

Sailor Moon is everything I could ever hope to be as a human being, even without the magical girl powers. She's taken up a huge chunk of my life, without ever demanding anything in return. She is good for the sake of being good, and that's it. I have yet to find a god or goddess who would be so self sacrificing.

She's a fictional character, but the things I love about her are very real to me.

And that is why I choose to keep her as my altar goddess.

♡ The Empress ♡

Hello again, much neglected blog. Today I want to discuss something that none of my tarot reading friends seem to find all that significant, but it continues to happen, and I don't know what to make of it.

It all started on Monday, July 15, 2019.
TL;DR - Click for full background sob story. Otherwise, continue below.

My world was shattered the day before. I woke up on my friend's couch, a broken mess of emotion, and left. I slept there the night before due to home troubles, and we were up until about 3am, talking about the things I'd need to do to get right again. It was going to be a long, shitty process. I knew it. Everyone around me knew it. I'd made myself completely vulnerable in my attempt to nurture and care for others. I'd made so many sacrifices for the people I loved, given up all the things I wanted and needed for myself  in order to make others happy, and it came back to bite me right in the ass. Hard.

At least, that's how I saw it.

I suppose from another point of view, I'd become codependent, clingy, and emotionally needy. I didn't have a job, because raising four kids (doctor appointments, dentist appointments, school, after school activities, weekend activities, laundry, cooking, homework, grocery trips, etc) took a lot of time. I haven't had a real job since my youngest was born. I was completely reliant on the Head of Household, who had much higher earning potential to me. I gave up having a job and my own source of income to devote myself to these things.

I had no social life. I carted kids back and forth to school, twice a day, there and back. I was on the road anywhere from 2-4 hours a day. That's a lot of gas money and mileage on my car. I couldn't go out with my friends because I was stupid broke. Even silly, small, FREE things like meeting at the town square to walk had to be carefully calculated into my gas consumption every week. I had one single person to rely on for all of my emotional needs, and when you aren't getting along with that one person, you tend to bottle a lot of things up.

And I bottled up EVERYTHING. He worked twelve freaking hours a night. I tried not to burden him with my miseries and frustrations on top of his own, but I became sulky. 

I'm getting carried away with backstory. Point is, things were really, really, really fucking bad. 

After 19 years together, I was very suddenly and violently single (breaking up is pretty violent, but it wasn't physical - that's not what I mean), with no where to go. I packed what I could into my second hand luggage and a couple of boxes and tossed them into the back of the wrecked car my son had given me, and went to sleep on my friend's couch.

And it was over. Everything I'd done, or tried to do, was absolutely meaningless, and I had nothing to show for it.

I was sitting in my car, waiting, when I pulled Her for the 6th time in a row. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't anything, really. I only even really kept tabs on the number of times she was showing up because she didn't answer any of my more pressing concerns, like wtf is happening to my marriage? or where tf am I gonna live? and so on. Honestly, I felt like it was a bit of a joke, because the Empress represents abundance and femininity and so many other things, and I didn't feel like I had any of that. But this was the moment that I really started to notice her, because I'd pulled her every single day, sometimes multiple times a day, for 3 days. Two or three times? Okay, yeah, that's pretty hardcore, but it might still be a coincidence. Six times, though? As I was going through all of this? (imagine my arms spread out, swiping though a vast, empty nothing. Kthx)

And here is the moment I started paying attention

But that wasn't even the end of it. I ended up pulling her a grand total of ELEVEN times in a row for a solid week. Most of those were single, one card pulls. A few were future positions in three card spreads, and twice were outcomes of the Celtic Cross. I had witnesses on several occasions, and my BFF pulled her for me two of those eleven times. By the end of that week, my husband decided he didn't want to live without me and we started trying to work things out.

After #11 and reconciliation, she stopped coming up for every single reading I did. I guess she felt like she'd made her point, whatever it was, and made herself known. And although she doesn't come up every single reading, she still shows up a lot. Like, a lot lot. Sometimes she straight up falls out of my deck when I'm shuffling. All by herself. She shows up in the "me" position of big reads. She shows up as the outcome. She often pops up during daily one card pulls. She comes up in both of my decks, as well as my husband's deck.

Whatever she represents in my life, she seems pretty inevitable.

I just wish I knew what it was.

Universe, if you're listening to me right now...

I'm ready to know her.

Wayback Wednesday: How to Write a Query Letter

Originally posted 2015, when I still cared about literary agents.

So, you've just finished polishing that novel for the hundredth time. It may have taken two, five, or ten years to complete the damned thing, but now it's over...or so you think.

All that's left is to attract the attention of an amazing literary agent, one who will love your work almost as much as you do, one who will surely sell your novel for no less than several million dollars. The problem is, you have no idea where to begin.

Well, you're in luck, my friend. I am here to help guide you through the process. Follow these three simple steps below, and in no time at all you'll have dozens of agents practically BEGGING to represent your work.

1. Writing the Perfect Query Letter

This is probably the easiest part of the process. All you have to do is adequately explain, in one to two short paragraphs, what your 100,000 word novel is about. Simple, right? But just to be on the safe side, here is a list of dos and don'ts to consider:

• DON'T write a synopsis, because agents hate that.
• DO write a synopsis, because agents need to understand your story.
• DON'T start with your pitch, because agents like an introduction.
• DO start with your pitch, because agents are very busy people and like to get straight to the point.
• DON'T include a biography, unless it pertains directly to your novel or career as a writer. (Degrees, awards, etc.)
• DO include a biography, because agents like to know who they'll potentially be working with.

Like I said, simple. Not confusing at all.

Now that we've cleared the query hurdle, it's time to move on to our next step.

2. Finding the Perfect Agent

Agents like to feel loved and cherished. They can feel your heavy gaze drinking in their profile information as your fingers gently stroke the keyboard, carefully researching each and every detail. They WANT you to WANT them. They NEED you to NEED them. They'd LOVE you to LOVE them. They're BEGGING you to BEG them. (See Cheap Trick for more details.)

Personally, I like to begin by narrowing the field down to five agents at a time. Five seems like a nice, reasonable number. Then I start with Agent #1 - stalking her on twitter, recording her every move as she shops for shampoo and wart remover, listening in on her phone calls to discover her favorite pizza toppings, hiring a P.I. to locate her family, friends...after all, agents love it when you take the extra time to get to know them on a personal level. Use her real name, tell her how important she is to you. If it doesn't feel like a one sided whirlwind romance, you're not doing it right.

Now, follow these next instructions very carefully:

• BURN your original query letter. If you've saved it to your computer, make sure you burn that as well. You didn't honestly think you'd get away with such a generic bit of garbage, did you? How dare you try to pass off that impersonal pile of used toilet paper on such an important, god-like creature.
• READ your chosen agent's submission guidelines. Find out what your future agent likes to see in a query, and then do exactly that. Exactly that. No funny business. You are catering to their will.
• READ your chosen agent's website or blog, and look for examples of queries they've enjoyed reading. Realize that those queries are the exact opposite of everything written on the agent's submissions page.
• BURN the second query you just wrote and start again, more confused than ever. Feel free to cry in a dark little corner of your closet, or the floor of your shower. This is a normal part of the process.
• FINISH your new query nearly two weeks later, more unsure than ever before, and send it to the agent's "slush pile." That's a fancy term the industry uses to describe the massive amount of unsolicited queries received every month. You are slush. They are gods. Remember that, peasant. It'll come in handy later.
• REPEAT the process individually for each agent you've chosen. This should take no longer than three months. After you've finished, make sure to treat yourself to a few sessions with your favorite therapist.

That wasn't so bad, was it? You came away with most of your hair and sanity intact, and all you have to do is wait for that wonderful day when an agent calls you up, completely awestruck and ready to sign you on with a major publisher and movie deal.

But wait...what's this? It's already been two whole days since you sent your love letter query, and no one has responded. This brings us to our next step:

3. Dealing with Rejection

I know, sweetheart. I know. After all the time and effort you put into that nasty old jerk - the personalized and well researched introduction, the carefully crafted summary, the highly polished yet short bio - but he doesn't even have the decency to address you by your name, after you waited weeks or months just to get a reply. Hell, he didn't even have the decency or respect (as he demanded from you) to send you a personalized rejection...that bastard just copy/pasted the same exact four sentences he's been using on everyone else! That's assuming, of course, that he even bothered to reply to your query at all! Oooh, just wait until he sees what you're going to do to his car...

Stop right there, sweetheart. He's not worth it. You're too good for him, and obviously he's either too blind or too stupid to realize what he had in his hands. One day, in the not too distant future, he's going to regret letting you slip away, but it'll be too late. You're going to have a brand new agent, one that recognizes how brilliant and talented you are, and that lowlife scumbag what's-his-name is going to be so jealous. Yup. Say, you wanna go get some coffee and maybe catch a movie later tonight? C'mon, it'll be good for you to get out, and you might even find the agent of your dreams. Until then...have you thought about, I don't know, self publishing? HEY! Don't look at me like that. There's no shame in it. Everyone's doing it now. We'll just take a quick peek at Amazon before we go...

And that, my friend, is my guide to writing a query letter.

Thanks, I love you. No awkward goodbyes, please.