Man, sometimes you just wake up and it feels like your brain is running a thousand different processes all at the same time. I got the work stuff, the family stuff, that ridiculous car repair bill—it’s just a whole giant mess that’s stuck in some kind of endless processing loop.
I needed a full system overview today, not some cute little three-card spread. I needed a diagnostic test on my entire operating system. So I didn’t mess around. I decided to pull twelve.
The Pulling Method: Rough and Ready Diagnosis
I didn’t do any of that slow-motion, careful, incense-burning nonsense. I grabbed my beat-up Rider-Waite deck—the one that’s been thrown in bags and looks like it’s been run over by a truck. I did a fast, vigorous shuffle, keeping one single, brutally simple question focused in my mind: “What is the single thing I absolutely must know today, right now, to untangle this entire pile of crap?”
I cut the deck three times, slapped the piles back together, and started dealing cards out in a wide arc on my desk, like I was dealing poker. Twelve spots, 1 through 12. No fancy names for the positions, just the raw data points I needed to check:
- 1. Right now feeling.
- 2. The job crap blockage.
- 3. The money hole situation.
- 4. My main internal enemy today.
- 5. The hidden thing I’m missing.
- 6. Best advice right this second.
- 7. That one person’s energy.
- 8. My immediate health status.
- 9. Next 30 days outlook.
- 10. The big bomb/opportunity.
- 11. What I need to immediately ditch.
- 12. The final brutal takeaway.
The cards that absolutely screamed the loudest? The ones that hit me like a cold shower? The Hermit showed up in position 4, “My main internal enemy.” That’s me, fighting myself because I won’t just sit still for five minutes and let things settle. I’m trying to force forward motion when I desperately need to retreat and think.
Then the Four of Pentacles—the tightwad, the miser, the guy holding onto everything out of fear—landed right in position 3, “The money hole situation.” And the biggest, fattest kicker of the whole spread, position 10 (“The big bomb/opportunity”) was the friggin’ Wheel of Fortune. It wasn’t a bomb; it was a spinning sign. It was the universe telling me to look up.
It all yelled the exact same thing: You’re trying to brute-force a situation that just needs time, dude. Stop grasping. Stop trying to micro-manage the rotation. Just breathe and watch the slow gear turn. The final takeaway (card 12) was the Queen of Swords, a cold, sharp instruction to use my head, cut the fat, and stop being so emotional about deadlines and pressure.
Why I Needed That Stupid Wheel of Fortune Today
Listen, I know how this sounds—some guy with a tarot blog talking about cards. But I needed this data, this whole messy, ridiculous reading, because of what happened last week. I had this absolute, total nightmare with the main studio lights—the ones that make my work possible—they just quit. Flatlined. Nothing.
I was told by the electrical guy it was a simple fuse and ballast replacement. Easy fix, right? I watched a three-minute video, ran to the hardware store, slammed the new parts in, and nothing. Spent six hours pushing buttons, kicking the fixture, Googling error codes—the whole stupid show. I was acting exactly like the Hermit stuck in his own head, trying to brute force a simple physical fix that needed a level head and maybe just one simple, calm check of the wiring. I was trying to fight the Wheel of Fortune, thinking I could magically stop the cycle of a blown circuit and fix it with pure rage and impatience.
I ended up calling the guy back, completely defeated, looking like a total failure. He showed up, used a special little tool to check the connection points first, not the new expensive parts, and boom, the issue was fixed in two minutes. The problem wasn’t the part; it was my impatience and my desire to just shove the solution in place. It was me thinking I had to be the hero instead of just letting the simple, established process work itself out.
He charged me a premium call-out fee because of the time—the Four of Pentacles hitting my wallet hard. I was angry, exhausted, and feeling like a complete idiot.
This morning’s reading, seeing all those cards laid out, was the Universe basically yelling a direct memo to my soul: Dude, the light fixture incident? That’s your whole life right now. Stop forcing the process. Let the cycle play out, and use your head to cut out the nonsense.
The Queen of Swords told me to send that harsh, to-the-point email I’d been holding back all week. The Hermit said, stop staring at the screen, go take an actual walk. That’s the real practice here. Not the cards themselves, but the raw, immediate action the cards force you to take when you’re cornered.
