Sick.

I'm sick. Woke up this morning to find that I'd lost my voice. Currently dragging around with a temperature and many achey bits. Been a while since I've had a fever, and I've been hoping to get one; I belive that running a temperature now and again is good for the body. There's some research to indicate that fever can protect one from cancer. Fever is the breath of Sekhmet, a hot wind purging the body of poison.

Which doesn't make me any less fed up, of course.

Last night I got a sign from the entities. I found a tarot card in the street near Placa Catalunya; The Chariot, to be precise. One of the local fortune-tellers must've dropped it. Lurid's been encouraging me to try reading the tarot for money, and that night we'd had a lengthy discussion about it. I give good readings, but I haven't done any in so long, I feel nervous about it. Plus there's the practicalities-- I don't speak enough Spanish to read for people yet.