Little Black Dot

long and unproductive conversation with the tarot tonight.
i asked a lot of questions. it gave a lot of dubious answers.
talking to the tarot is like talking to jean doe.
blink once for yes, twice for no.
only jean doe's therapist didn't have a signal for maybe.
an interesting pattern has emerged, however:
all of the women i fall in love with turn up in my readings as the queen of cups.
all of them.
the tarot tells me, if nothing else, i have a type after all.
(i didn't think i did)
intelligent, creative. reckless.
sounds about right.
i'm going to go smoke my sixth cigarette of the day and hope it's not a sign of damnation.