voodoo
A little over a year ago, I asked The Astrologer to throw cards on Cougar. I’ve learned not to use tarot for questions about my relationships with other people unless I am reading completely for fun or am absolutely ready for an answer, or both, because although the cards themselves are not psychic, The Astrologer’s interpretations tend to be. I can’t remember why I’d asked her to do a spread at that particular moment; I suspect we’d recently had another bordering-on-flirting episode, most likely at an after-work function, after we’d both had enough to drink.

So for fun or for answers or both, H— threw cards on Cougar. The read was warm and benign; H— said he had other things on his mind but that our friendship looked good. My response to this was goody-goody gumdrops, just what I always wanted, another male friend; in fact I must have voiced this out loud because her response to me was one quite stern, “Hang on to this guy. You’re going to need a friend during the final transitions at work. My sense is he can be that for you.”

I’d forgotten about this reading until last week. This is typical for me; tarot readings are absorbed into my subconscious until the outcome cards play out. Now, I see.

Last week, four years of struggle with the System culminated in dates, two sets of dates for issues to be brought forth. If I am extremely lucky, things may be resolved after the first set of dates but the likeliest scenario is that the struggle will stretch over the next five months, through the second set. My heart, of course, feels trampled. Again.

How Cougar and I went from maybe running into each other once a week to seeing each other twice daily I am not quite certain, but whatever the reason, I’ve never been more grateful.

“Hey sad girl,” he said the day after the news, “Did you sleep at all last night?”
“I slept,” I said, “But I fell asleep with the lights on.”
“I did too, actually,” he said.

I didn’t ask why he did. It doesn't matter.