I got bored last night and left early. I kept writing in messages “I don’t think I can endure, I’m not sure how much more I can endure.” I was bored with myself. And in that position my ability to be receptive or generous feels threatened. The second card—my present—was the Three of Swords. “I’m sorry,” said Alex, “oh my god.” My first card was reversed and I don’t remember what it was. But for the present: a dozen snakes charging Zak across the water. You are dealing with heartbreak, with rejection. My brother was killed and now I must obey the subroutine: grief is searching the map for him before I can finally go to sleep. (He will never be found.) In grief is our subjectivity revealed: the development of modern humans coexistent with the appearance of burial rites. When you kill one snake its mate will appear soon after, it will grieve its dead partner from over a mile away. (This is not true. Snakes are not visited by grief. They do not notice a fallen comrade unless you have shot it from a boat. And even then: only rage.) “Your future,” Lily said, “looks good.” The Ten of Cups. “Wholeness, acceptance. This could be the story of a relationship or a crush.” Whatever it was, I hoped for some relief.

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