The seer was right. She was spot on! Even more, she predicted the fucking lifequake I was about to experience. I wanted to believe her droning on about my star sign planet alignments and that my life was jetting toward an asteroid belt; I craved a navigational challenge. I needed a new thrill: an enema to flush the bullshit, an emotional afterburn trailing an adrenaline rush.
Suddenly 50-something: aimless, burned out, blacked out, and void. I saw my best years wizz by like lightning bolts against an angry sky with little energy to greet the erupting dawn.
She and I parted ways when she omitted whether this tumult would disrupt my financial, professional, or love life unless I parted with an additional $59.99.