The worst part of aging as a pagan who looks forward to becoming a crone is the hair. I love the spiderwebs of silver spreading across hair so dark it's almost black. This means I can't dye it blue to scare off Republicans.

Ok like pretend your two most sane friends said "earn money as a tarot card reader". That's my day today. Going for a long walk to buy a beer or two before 2 am when the puritans cut me off because this is an odd career to be considering this seriously, like what the fuck?

Ok so first reading was delightfully creepy, yet helpful. I think I might pull this off.

I don't remember the really funny reason I jumped back online to waste my precious data with. I just know the motivation was that I love you all. Off to eat midnight spaghetti O's from a can in the dark in the kitchen, while staring at the baby carnivores fumbling through the soil on their path to renewal while lit by fairy lights that stay on so we can find the midnight munchies in the kitchen.

How do you do "local personality" with massive ummm....... Socially triggered spasms with flailing limbs? With fucking humor. I might like this. I could do it as a thing. Maybe. Pardon if I encourage myself into an odd income.

Watch my ass get invited to the bbq because I'm funny, leftist, creatively "witchy", and a fucking critical thinker. Send your energy my way. I'll do scientific shit with it.

Oh, no. It's even worse. Sipping my wine from the new local shop, the one next to my fav dispensary, the one that has a party area full of hubaloo on the weekends, they want to stock the Snoop wine because I said it's perfectly balanced (yes,try it), they are part and parcel with the dispensary next door, I call the corner the one stop shop for my chronic pain needs (the booze dude caught the chronic joke, made me happy) I'm becoming known.... I might be on my way to local personality?