lesson 24: stuck in the middle with you?

Loop of 8.  Starting top center and going clockwise, Eight of Coins (1), Two of Cups (2), Five of Coins (4), Nine of Staves (7), The Hermit (8), Nine of Cups (6), Ten of Swords (5), Justice (3). (As always, the numbers following the card name indicates the order in which the card was laid down on the table. In this case, like most when using a line, arc, or loop, I alternate left and right. For the sake of ease, I listed them clockwise. Either, both, or neither may prove worthwhile in interpreting the spread. 

Deck: Sirena by Mr. Friborg. 

Typically I use a loop like this when drawing an arc of five or seven cards and deciding a few more cards would benefit the spread. You can see an earlier post on how I have no issue drawing additional cards in a reading, usually when reading for myself. Today, though, I felt like mixing things up, so I started with the loop.

Here’s a case where it feels like a lot of cards, even though my typical spread is actually nine—one card more than here. When I make spreads, shape doesn’t mean much to me—but I think it’s worth pointing out that shape can make a spread seem larger (or smaller) than it is. And often, especially for new readers, it’s not so much the number of cards in a reading that becomes daunting; rather, it’s the impression that there’s too much info. Fair. Especially for those of us who fall easily to overwhelm. I’m often among those folks. And so I think it’s worth saying that if you lay out a spread and you look at it and you just think “oh fuck” when faced with interpreting it, it may not be the cards that are triggering that reaction, but the arrangement you chose. And I do think that if you can find a new or adjusted shape that preserves the interrelationship between the cards, there’s no reason not to move them around. By this I mean that the way the cards interact with one another, their relative position to each other, should be preserved because that is part of the reading now. But if you can even, say, close the gap between the middle top and bottom cards, it may make the spread feel less daunting—without shifting the card relationships too much. 

Anyway, I don’t feel particularly cowed by this spread yet—I just wanted to point that out. And it occurred to me that this felt like “a lot” of cards at first glance, even though I typically work with nine. Size may not matter, but shape does. 

Anyhoo. Here we are, lesson twenty-four. This a new deck, one I backed on Kickstarter, by a creator whose work I really admire. And one of my favorite decks of 2023 was Mr. Friborg’s Tarrochi, which I took with me to New Orleans. So, though I’m not well-versed in mermaid lore, I needed to back this and I’m glad I did because it’s quite striking—and quite dark, compared to my other mermaid deck (another one I love, Dame Darcy’s). In fact, it’s the darkness of Friborg’s decks that I am so drawn to. The Tarrochi, which features all skeletons, manages to somehow achieve a certain kind of left-handed, memento mori kind of sexiness that this weirdo appreciates. 

When we have a large spread, particularly one that could begin and end anywhere and can be read in multiple ways, the reader has basically two choices: start with the most “logical” spot to them (in this case, the first card I put down would make sense—the Eight of Coins), or the card that seems most relevant to the situation we’re reading about (where we know a theme) or that calls most strongly to the reader (where we’re unsure what the reading will cover). In this case, both cards are the same—that eight. Reason being, this is a blog about the craft of reading cards, and this is a card that is also typically about craft. 

This is an a unique depiction of the card. We have a land man doing some work on land while some merpeople frolic. And this immediately makes me think of the insecurity I sometimes feel as a reader because I’m “not magical.” This is what I tell myself in the moments when I’ve over-consumed media (books, videos) from people with skills I lack. For example, I spent a lot of time reading about mediumship for some research recently, and because I’m not one I started to find myself feeling less-than. Not unlike this mortal normie doing the hard work while the magical creatures in the world go off and play. In my better moments, I recognize this as insecurity—and to a degree the direct result of choosing to eliminate spiritual practice from my divination for so long (a necessity, in my case, and I don’t regret it). But there are times when I just feel “not cool enough” for the divcom (a term I just made up for “divination community”). I know that might sound nuts for someone who has such a big fucking mouth and such a strong opinion about everything, but my innate understanding of myself in the world is that I’m always the least cool, least interesting, least attractive fucker in the room. One reason I don’t whine about that more is because I recognize that I’m not, you know, totally pointless and because there are plenty of folx who would give their eye teeth for my YouTube subscriber count. But we tend to see ourselves not in terms of what we have, but what we lack. And as someone who has been making YouTube content since about 2012, I can’t help but notice how many people who started well after me who have twice or even three times the subscribers I do. This is of course why we shouldn’t compare our selves, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel shitty sometimes that for the last two years my count has hung in the same place and I still can’t break 10,000. 

Luxury problem, of course. And yet, this is how the brain works. 

And it doesn’t help us, because—and now we return to a favorite topic of mine—that’s all ego.

Here’s another example, for you. I recently read at an event and I was the last reader to be approached for a reading and I wasn’t really particularly busy most of the night—unlike the other readers, who were. Sometimes that happens, and it easily could have been that I chose a table toward the back of the small area we inhabited. It also happened to be a long event (for me, anyway) and I worried whether I’d have enough energy to read all night. But none of that mattered. For the first twenty or thirty minutes, while I sat trying to look adorable and unbothered, I internally regretted applying to read and chalked it up to yet more evidence of my worthlessness. This is a lifelong journey, folks, and I have to tell you I’m fucking sick of it lately. Especially because the world keeps finding new ways to make us not like ourselves, and while the ensuing armageddon that Trump and Israel and Putin and others are rapidly pushing us toward (much to the delight of the mentally fucked up “Christian” right, who fetishizes this shit) reminds us that our self esteem may not be the most important thing—it’s also not going to get any better, because for those of us in typically excluded communities, we’re once again going to find ourselves the object of ad hominem attacks from the people running the world. This is as it’s always been, of course, and those of us in the so-called US have been unfairly spared a lot of the worst that the world can offer, so my nihilism is fairly privileged—but I’m also fairly convinced we are in a sea change moment and while it’s probably necessary, I do not believe it will be pretty or inspiring. Love and light, I guess I’m saying, need not apply. 

What got me out of that doldrum was a mantra I occasionally return to: “This is about them, not you.” By this I mean, that I’m going to these events—asking to go to these events—to read for clients, not to validate my own ego. To put it another way, and I’m fairly sure I’ve written about this before, I remember a quote from my acting days from the noted teacher Stanislavsky (founder of the famously misunderstood, misused, “method”—which is one of the foundational fuckeries of theatrical training and one reason why the theatre industry is so toxic . . . not that what Stanislavsky taught was so bad, though it’s often inscrutable; no, it’s the Americanization of it that turned too many heterosexual men into Brando wannabes who treated their coworkers like shit in the name of “realism”—and still do). He said (allegedly), “love the art in yourself, not yourself in the art.” It’s the same thing. A play isn’t about the actors, the writer, or the director; it’s about the audience. A reading isn’t about the reader; it’s about the client. 

When I get in my head about my relative coolness (or lack thereof), I’m not focused on my mission as reader: to give real, practical readings to clients. Instead, it’s focused on validation. It’s self-centered rather than client-centered, and if you know Your Tarot Toolkit, you know how evangelical I am about client-centric reading. 

But of course our progress isn’t a straight line (which now makes me happy I used this loopy spread), and even though I know that I sometimes have to work at reminding myself of it. And I think this iteration of the Eight of Coins really sums that up for me. 

The card is flanked by Justice and the Two of Cups. I take this as a reminder that the “right” thing to do is focus on the giving (not taking) nature of divination. When faced with Justice, I often overreach with clients. When it shows up early in a spread, I frequently ask clients if they’re involved in social justice work—and ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, they are not. And so frequently I just read it as “correct” or “right,” not in the legal or common sense, but in the moral sense. In this case, not the morality of a society controlled by wealth, but actual morality. If John Valjean, prisoner 24601, got a reading from me asking, “Should I steal this bread to feed my family?”, the Justice card would say “yes.” The moral thing is to feed the hungry. But does it mean there won’t be consequences? Not at all. There often are—and certainly, the story of Les Miserables, which I’m referencing here, is set off by that act and the conflict between the “law” (Javert, the cop whose black-and-white, Christo-colonial vision of justice causes him to devote his entire life to destroying Jean Valjean—ultimately (spoiler) leading to his own demise) and morality. These are not new conflicts. The Justice card is “right” thing or the “correct” thing; not the legal or socially acceptable thing. (Of course, there are also times when the card represents the exact opposite, contextually—the power of the elite and the oppression of the marginalized. How do I know which is which? You guessed it! Context!) In other cases, though, it needs to be read without this grandiosity. Sometimes, it simply means “the correct thing to do.” And in this reading, that’s what it is saying. Paired with the Two of Cups, it reminds us that the way out of that feeling of missing out (in the eight) is to focus on giving, rather than taking—focus on the client rather than feeling validated. 

That’s not bad advice, of course. It’s not easy, but it’s true. These two cards are flanked by the Ten of Swords and the Five of Coins. Ruh-roh, Rhaggy! These are no bueno. If we’re focusing on the client, why then do we have these doom and gloom around us?

Well, kids, I think it’s partly because that’s the gig. Like, deciding to become a reader who offers services to clients (paid or not), we are essentially going out into the chaos and saying, “yes, please dump your traumas at me.” That sounds glib and I don’t mean it to. But it’s the reality. Particularly when we’re reading in public or at events that have a fairly steady flow of customers. You’re simply going to be encountering person after person who is in some kind of a state. Sure, many folks are simply curious, but that doesn’t mean darker topics won’t come up in the reading. And many others are carrying something that they’re struggling with and that’s why they want the reading. 

This underscores, really, the necessity of de-centering the reader. If we’re doing readings to feel good about ourselves, we’re not reading for clients. That’s it. Pure and simple. (You can feel good about what you do—you should! But if your brain energy is focused on you and how you’re feeling, that’s a sign you’re not focused on the client.) And I wonder whether the times where I struggled reading for clients was because I was centering myself. Maybe divinity said, “well, Tommy, if you can’t focus on the client, we’re not helping you get an answer.” (I actually think it’s purely that our brain can only focus on one thing, and if we’re focusing on our valuelessness then we can’t focus on interpreting cards. But there’s nothing saying I’m right, and as someone who has seen first-hand the impact of bad-but-earnest readings on clients, I’d like to think there’s some safety net in place where my guided might stop me before I give a crap-ass reading. But I guess I won’t know until I know, ya know?)

Anyway, these two cards—the ten and the five—bookend the spread. We can think of them as parenthesis, containing the whole thing. And together they’re saying, “People often want readings because their brains and lives are in states of fuckery, and they want clarity—so you need to get your own fuckery out of the equation, because it’s not the point of doing this. It’s not about you; it’s about them.”

When we remember our mission, why we do what we do, we have an easier time forgetting to care about our ego validation. What’s your mission as a reader? Mine is clarity. I want to give clear, precise answers that make sense based on the client’s life. That’s it. I have tangential missions (cost accessibility, for example; I tend to believe that divination is spiritual work for the masses, not the elite), but ultimately I want to give clients clear, honest, true answers. That’s it. That’s my mission. C’est ça. What’s yours? If you don’t know it, no worries—the spread at the end of today’s post will be all about that. Regardless, focusing on your mission is a good way to get out of your head and move away from the “nobody loves me, I think I’ll eat some worms” mentality that so many of us have been taught to dance. 

We have three more cards to look at! Yeegad! By this time we have a pretty good answer, is there any point in going on? Of course, but that doesn’t mean that these three cards will add anything new. Or, what I really should say is that they don’t have to. But—and this is where things get crazy!—they certainly could. 
Could I stop here? Yeah, I can do anything I want. Would that be “bad”? No. We got an answer. There’s no fucking law saying that if you don’t interpret every card in a reading that you’re going to hell. Do whatever you want. But since we drew them, why not use them? 

We have two nines, and that’s always fun—when we have repetitions. Nines are numbers I associate with tiredness, with burnout (as you probably know by now). Cups/water and wands/fire are the two suits most prone to overwork, overextension. So of course that’s what they’re saying here, right?

I don’t know. 

Actually, at the moment, I’m more drawn by The Hermit who sits directly between those two and directly below the Eight of Coins. The Hermit is, one might say, a “higher octave” of this eight. Not all Eights of Coins, but this one, in this reading, with this image that produced this interpretation. The Hermit recognizes that he’s something other than a mermaid (in this deck, he’s part crab—a clever joke) and does his business. In fact, the very act of being what he is kind of demands that he stay somewhat apart. Of course that’s the nature of the Hermit, right? But in this context, he’s not a “hermit”; he’s us, he’s a fortune teller, a reader. He understands that doing this work, at least doing it well, requires a certain protection from the normal world (see his shell) and/or from the common way of doing and seeing things. 

I’ve said before that divining changes you, but I can’t remember where I said that so I don’t know if you’ve read that yet or you will read it when my book comes out (Did I mention I have a—never mind.) Dedicating yourself to the art and craft of divination will change you. It will change your outlook, it will change your politics (or it should), and it will change your cosmology. If you’re not prone to cynicism, you might discover that you find yourself having moments of it that you aren’t used to. If you are a cynic, it can get worse. But on the other side of that self-same coin, if you’re a non-believer (as I am/was/am), you’re going to find yourself marveling at things you can’t explain. If you’re a hopeless fuck (as I am/am/am), you’re going to—against your better judgement—feel like we’re not entirely alone out here and that there may be someone(s) or something(s) dancing with us, guiding us, helping us, loving us. If you’re a believer already, your understanding of what you believe in and how it make sense to you will change. Devoting yourself to anything has that effect, and because divination is such a communal practice—it requires engagement with someone/thing other than us, even when just reading for ourselves—it’s going to demand that we look at the world differently. 

For those of us allergic to “love and light,” we’ll find times where we’re giving the most amazing news—over and over again; and for those who are “good vibes only,” if you’re doing it well, you’ll eventually start to find stretches of bad news that will make you question your commitment to optimism. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve said to clients, “Against all my better judgment, I have good news—yes, he’s coming back and yes he has changed” or similar. “Yeah, you’re going to get the job.” I once said to a guy, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes: quitting your job to focus on your music is a good idea.” I WOULD NEVER SAY THAT TO SOMEONE OUTSIDE OF A READING! I’m the most overcautious fucker you’ll ever encounter. I’m terrified of everything. But the cards said, “this is right for him.” 

I have to turn off my pessimism. “I can’t believe how much good news I’m giving,” I said at one event shortly after the election. “I expected to see nothing but gloom tonight and everyone I read for seems on the edge of totally thriving.” 

And then I have to turn off my jealousy. Woof. We never think of that, do we? Or I don’t, anyway. But after giving a bunch of randos good news all night, I started to feel fairly shitty about my own lot—given what I’ve been going through the last couple years, including a handful of things I haven’t told anyone about. (Believe it or not, there are dramas in my life that I don’t use as examples or whine about on the socials.) There’s another self-centered thing, feeling like crap because you’re giving too many people good news you know you’re not going to get. Woof, indeed. That’s something nobody prepared me for. I don’t think I’d have believed it if someone told me when I was starting out that I’d one day have to come face-to-face with my own bitchy jealousy at my own clients’ good fortune. Granted, I also wouldn’t have believed you if you told me that I’d be reading cards for money in public where anyone could see me doing it. I’d never have believed this would become so central to my life. And, really, that part is one of the things I personally have to recall when I do start to feel crappy (because my stupid clients are all happier than me) (I’m kidding, I love my clients): I have to remember that tarot has come into my life in a way I wasn’t expecting and it’s been able to do that because the thing I thought I was here for didn’t work out. Anyway. this really isn’t meant to be all about me, but I am such a good example. Wink. 

While my interpretation of the nines is generally fairly negative, the tarot influenced by Waite-Smith does not agree. The Nine of Cups is “the wish card.” The Nine of Coins/Penties, not in this reading, is somewhat nebulous—but its often among the most stunning paintings in a deck, so it often gets interpreted positively. It’s really only the other two nines that are “bad.” But even though I’m fairly mean to nines, that doesn’t mean they’re actually bad. Or that they’re even only nines. Nines are made up of other numbers, in this case three threes. And Mr. Friborg’s Nine of Cups actually looks a lot like many Three of Cups in the W-S trad. I think this reminds us of the expansive nature of the card, particularly in this case where burnout isn’t quite the interpretation that feels contextually relevant. In fact, I start to think of water, suddenly, in its rolling, wavy way—the way that water (and our emotional state) can come in big waves, ebb, be relatively still for a bit, and then return with maybe another large wave or a trio of smaller ones. I’m thinking about how our feelings aren’t straight lines, either, and that the way the nine breaks down into threes, here, makes me feel like the PULSE of feeling--I’m feeling THIS WAY NOW and then its gone AND THEN I’M FEELING SOMETHING ELSE and it’s gone and maybe a little bit of this, this and this, AND THEN A REALLY BIG ONE—and it takes a while to—OH GOD THERE’S ANOTHER ONE. . . . and then it’s gone. Like the ocean. That’s how this Nine of Cups feels to me. 

So what of the Nine of Wands? It takes on a similar quality, but in this case it’s giving martyr. And that makes me laugh because of the somewhat pretentious way I described the diviner as having to stand outside life, a little. We have to see life clearly, but we’re not always allowed to do life the same way “mere mortals” are (to get super pretentious). I think that’s true, but it’s easy to get a complex about it—either a delusion of grandeur or of martyrdom, which both feels strongly wandsy. Here, I think it’s both in part because the martyr clearly has delusions of grandeur, too; it’s the single thing that would allow someone to sacrifice themselves for a cause. It is working against every natural instinct humans have. We are built to avoid danger. The martyr not only welcomes danger, they give themselves to it knowing, or being pretty certain anyway, that they will die. It’s operatic, really. Quite dramatic. 

The Hermit needs to be careful about this grandiosity—but I don’t think we (we, us, fortune tellers, readers) need to avoid it. Like my video on the ego recently (and the concept of “ego death”), I don’t think we can or should necessarily turn off the part of our brains that say, “OMG, you’re such a saint for doing this work. You’re just so good.” I mean, not in the way that that fucking annoying dame in that racist-ass Gone With the Wind movie does. What’s her name? Mel? In a film full of issues, she weirdly irks me the most. (I never liked the actress. I preferred her sister, and they hated each other. The sister, Joan Fontaine, was in Rebecca with Laurence Olivier, and she’s excellent in it. Olivia de Havilland, who played Mel in Wind, is the proto Becky [in my humble opinion]). Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah, I don’t think we need to deny ourselves some indulgence in the sainthood we canonize ourselves with. That might sound objectively insane, but listen . . . 

Back when I believed in government and wanted to be White House press secretary (a la CJ Craig), I used to say of politicians whose dicks got mashed into the news cycle, “To believe that you can fix this country implies a certain kind of hero complex and narcissism that probably only exists in the kind of men who also feel like everyone wants to see their disembodied richard.” (This is what I call dick pics, incidentally: disembodied richards.) There’s a certain kind of egotism necessary to think, “I am someone who can resist the super PACs, the lobbyists, the obstacles, the opposition and really fix this country—with all its deep, deep fuckeduppery. I can do that, because I am a stud.” Ya know I mean? I mean, that’s very hypermasculine, and it’s not at all what I’m suggesting we emulate, but to get the gumption to do it at all requires a certain amount of belief in the self. Jesus, can you imagine if you had to beg voters for your job? I can’t even ask my doctor for a prescription refill he makes me take because I don’t want to bother him. And to lose in public? (OK, well, as a writer, I do have some experience with that one—and I also have some narcissistic tendencies, due being born with my sun in Leo and my moon in Cancer.) 

For readers, we weirdly do need to see ourselves—sometimes, and just a little—as a sainted being, doing “the lord’s work.” And I really mean just a little. Like, please. I cannot with smuggeries who think they’re god’s gift. Fuck you. I mean, really, you’re gross. But—and this does tie into the confidence/humility discussion from my recent video--you gotta believe you can do it in order to do it well. Because insecurity will distract you. And you also need to believe that you can do the impossible, because, if you think about it, divination is kind of a miracle. If you subscribe to such words. (I do not.) But, you know, by the definition of miracle (from Dictionary.com, a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency) we’re getting pretty literal here. Ain’t nothin’ about divinaysh that doesn’t fit that description. Saux . . . . Ya know. We gotta know, deep down, that we (in very tiny, tiny text and a mumbly voice) make miracles. 
But just a little bit. OK? For fuck’s sake, diva. 

I wasn’t going to do this because this is already too long, but: I just noticed that pairing the cards above the two nines creates an interesting counterplay. The Justice card with the Nine of Cups sorta brings playful sainthood to the table, if we think of Justice as being the martyr in the other card—and because many people who engage in justice work also have a tendency to think of themselves as saints, and again that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Listen, if you don’t believe in your nads that you can hit a baseball thousands of feet out of a major league ballpark, you cannot do it. That’s probably why so many athletes are such pricks (although I don’t actually think it’s that; I think it’s that we elevate atheletes in this country to a status of value that they don’t deserve—so the ego and entitlement majorly kicks in). When we pair the Nine of Staves with the card above it, the Two of Cups, we sorta bring the lovey dovey hippy vibes into the martyr card, again sorta softening the edges and making it a little more playful. The cups cards both, in this case, soften their mirrors—even if that’s not always the case. Sometimes water can be quite destructive, as we know; but here, it’s simply eroding sharp edges and softening things to make them gentler. In a good way.  

These final three cards were almost another reading, and that’s OK. It added to what we’d already discussing, reminding us that we can indulge in self-centeredness sometimes—and that there’s a certain amount of self-regard required to read the cards—but that it’s not the only thing, that we have to focus on the client, and though we’re sometimes saintly we are not saints.

What a fun reading. I enjoyed this, even if I didn’t have any idea where it was going to take us. I think it’s exciting to not only let the cards guide us (something I didn’t used to enjoy) and also allow the clues in a unique deck to guide the tone of the reading, too; particularly in cards we often “think” we “know.” 

A read of one’s own
This week’s spread is about our mission— mission, purpose, whatever word you want to use; mission is definitely loaded—as readers. And it’s simply drawing cards to answer the question, “What is my mission as a tarot reader?” or “What is my mission as a fortune teller?” However you’d like to phrase it. 

Initially I thought this makes sense only if you don’t know, but if you do know there’s something quite cool about validating that with a reading. First, you might discover that what you thought was your mission really isn’t; the reading reminds you that there’s something else going on. Or, it might tell you what you already know, but it gives you the opportunity to show how the answer appears in cards—a good opportunity to explore how your tarot communicators work with you. 

I think there’s something quite cool about reading a question you already know the answer to, even if only to work backwards from the answer and “make” the cards give you what you already know is true. I’ve mentioned this before, but my early YouTube videos were all inspired by Tarot Tells the Tale by James Ricklef. I did readings for characters from books and movies. I always got a totally—amazingly—appropriate spread that described the story in incredible ways. This stuff works and doing that is another way you can see how the cards communicate with you. And if you do the same question with several decks, you can see how different decks communicate the same answer. Again, quite cool!

A quick demo: 
I pulled three cards to answer the question and wound up with Art/Temperance (2), Knight(King) of Swords (1), and Queen of Wands (3). (Thoth Tarot)

I always smile when the sorta weirdly “right” cards show up, and what made me smile in this case was Art. I’ve said it before, but I do give Crowley a wee bit of credit for two of the main changes he made to the majors. Art/Temperance—though I don’t really read it as he intended, I love that adjustment. And the other one I love is Adjustment/Justice. I like it in this case because I do believe art is an art. 

Anyway, let’s see . . . The Knight (King) of Swords is probably the card I’d choose if I were picking a significator (sometimes it’s the queen of the same suit). He’s not my significator, though; not in the esoterica sense. The King of Pentacles is. I was born in the third decan of Leo, which he rules. The Knight of Swords is very “me” though in that I’m quite speedy as a reader. (The knight in the Thoth carries the normal knight’s energy—a thing I typically don’t associate with Waite/Marseille kings. Because the Princes in the Thoth deck have the “regal” aspect, they get the kings’ laziness—in my way of doing things.) I want readings to be sharp, clear, precise, and not go on so long we forget what we’re doing. But I want them to be beautiful, artistic, poetic (Art). I want them to be integrated, by which I mean I want the client to be able do something with or about the reading (also Art in the way Crowley intended, as the integration of parts of something). Finally, I want (most of) my clients to feel like bad-asses—and, frankly, I would like to feel that way, too (Queen of Wands). That’s pretty in line with what I said before! Yay me. But also, it’s not always easy to read on these kinds of questions—so if you don’t find an answer as easily as I did, know in part that I am a speedy reader and also that I was absolutely distracted while doing things—which sometimes, I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes can help with a self-reading because we don’t have the time to get in our heads about what things are “supposed” to be. Try it. You may find it really useful!

Until next week!

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