what's in the cards?

Sometimes I breathe easier in Guatemala. Despite the exhaust fumes, the pollution, the sound waves that jar you so much that they might be doing something to your lungs, too, I breathe easier.

I've been having trouble imagining life in the US upon my return. Quiet. Controlled. Infrastructure, punctuality, indoor plumbing. Why have I been in my element for the last three months, where life is so inconvenient in so many ways?

What is it that I leave behind in the US?

What is it that I find in Guatemala?

I don't know. Maybe it's not actually worth thinking about.

I gave away my first deck of tarot cards, now over a decade old. I don't need to read anymore to know what's coming. I don't want to predict the future anymore; I want to write it. And if I check my horoscope, it's only to delight in how dreadfully wrong it is.