So last Thursday I was sipping my morning coffee, shuffling my old Rider-Waite deck like I do every week, when the Death card literally jumped out and smacked the table. “Alright,” I mumbled, “guess we’re starting with drama today.” I pulled another card to see what it paired with – boom, The Tower. My coffee almost went flying. That’s like drawing “apocalypse” and “imploding skyscraper” back-to-back.
Here’s Exactly How It Went Down
I stared at those two cards propped against my chipped mug like they owed me money. Death showed its usual creepy skeleton horseman vibe, but next to The Tower’s lightning-struck building? Pure chaos. My brain went:
- “Is my landlord finally evicting me?”
- “Did my cat actually push the TV off the shelf this time?”
- “Did I forget to pay taxes again?”
Grabbed my notebook – the one with coffee rings on page 37 – and started scribbling every doom scenario possible. Wrote until the pen ink smeared. Felt like prepping for disaster.
Called my sister (who thinks tarot’s witchcraft but humors me). Explained the cards frantic-like: “Death means something’s gotta die, right? And The Tower? That’s everything crashing down!” She just sighed and said: “Or maybe it’s about Steve quitting his garbage job finally.“
Steve’s her boyfriend. Hates his boss. Talks about quitting daily for two years. I paused. Huh. Maybe it wasn’t my disaster. Looked at the cards again. Death’s horse was walking toward the tower. Not running. Walking. The tower wasn’t rubble yet – just getting cracked open by lightning.
The Click Moment
Right there at my sticky kitchen table, it snapped. Not physical death. Not my apartment collapsing. Death was Steve’s crappy job needing to die. The Tower was his fake “stable” life illusion getting wrecked. The lightbulb almost blinded me. Pulled three more cards for clarity – got the Three of Cups (party), Six of Wands (success), and the Sun (big happy).
Messaged my sister: “Tell Steve to rage-quit. Like, today. Bring popcorn.” Guess what? He walked out Friday morning after his boss yelled about TPS reports. By Saturday? Dude got a job offer washing yachts – pays more, outside all day. Sister sent a pic of him grinning like an idiot holding a fishing rod.
So yeah, Death + Tower didn’t bury me. Didn’t even break my coffee mug. Just exploded Steve’s misery prison. Moral? Sometimes the scary cards mean someone else’s garbage fire. And apparently, yacht scrubbing beats spreadsheets. Who knew?
