Tarot Cards and Taco Bell

20130714_021625I figure a bushel of hyperbolized nervous breakdowns (Read: Spring Semester of my Senior Year in College) and a panic-inducing elbow rash I acquired after an overly romanticized month hiking across Iceland serve reasonably enough to explain as to why I’ve taken a break from writing, but then again, who am I to judge?

I figure that now, more than ever, is the appropriate time to shotgun my writing through the metaphysical yet abnormally large nose cartilage that has defined the cyber-sphere, as well as my own nose, that by definition being bumpy and full; my nose being bumpy and full because I’m Cuban and know it is because I own a mirror. As for the cyber-sphere, I suppose that’s bumpy and full too, full of the metaphysical yet abnormally large bullsh*t and relentless marathon of instagrammed reflective asses that billow up by the hot air created by the serendipitous moment of sitting in a mini coop and guzzling down chai iced teas only because they’re considered a cultural totem of the world outside of Miami, Florida.

I’m from Miami, by the way, so that gives me the right to speak so invectively about my own town.

This post isn’t self-obsessed at all. In fact, I didn’t spend twenty minutes composing the previous statements, and I did not lose track of what I was trying to explain: Why I’ve started this up again.

I’m writing this again because of A) yes, all of the above B) I recently got a job working in the food industry, and C) My mom and I had gotten tipsy at a family party after playing Cards Against Humanity for three hours and then decided to get Taco Bell and have her read me my tarot cards.

I find it will stand out in my life as one of the most defining memories of my mother and I having a good time. The setting and formula was perfect, after all: Eating a couple of Crunchwrap Supremes while being told that now, the July of my 22nd year of breath would be the time I was most poor and most lonely. The big finale came when I added mild hot sauce to an extra soft taco I found in the take-out bag, right after I’d been told that I was going to be living disgustingly comfortable all the while come into contact with an elderly mentor who was going to expose me to a very unique opportunity (the tarot card depicted a priest).

Whether or not the reading was truly accurate or an accurate depiction of my mother’s ever-loving bias and unnerving hopes to see me succeed and be happy in the world, I don’t know.

What I do know is this: I’ve never suffered a heartburn as badly as the one I suffered this morning after my Late Night Ta-Coma. I also realized that in all those times I despised myself and dreamt of hiding away, I had a support system back home so strong it was able to rig the Tarot system to be entirely in my favor.



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