I reach over to refill my cup, but the Cook’s is empty. I kick the bottle and it flies across the room. A little bit of the “old me” coming back to say hello.

I try to calm myself down by remembering I don’t even like Tara that much. Her labia is weird, and she has white-heads all over her back. But she makes me laugh, or at least laughs at my jokes, and she is rich from her settlement with her ex-husband. I am too old and too pretty to be waiting tables.

This is something I have been telling myself for three decades.

I pick up a Marlboro Ultra Light and go over to the window. My neighbor who always complains about me smoking inside won’t be home for a few hours. She also says Tara and I are “too loud,” a complaint that typically comes after our three-day sex marathons. Tara called her a “homophobe,” which she probably is, but I am one too. I don’t like lesbians. They are so masculine. I like femininity—long hair and painted fingernails and dancing in my bra to Madonna. I like to be frivolous and free, and for someone else to get the bill.

I slide open the window and light my cigarette. Hot air rushes in my apartment. I love the heat; I’m a fire sign. Inhaling, I block Tara’s number. She will inevitably ask for me back, only to again come to the same conclusion: I am too volatile. I may as well save time.

I open Instagram on my phone. My son says I’m too old for Instagram, but all my friends are on it. He doesn’t let me follow him, and I pretend not to care, but it bothers me. I’m always better at pretending not to care with men.

I check Exalted. This is my favorite account. It’s all memes about astrology. I have always been proud of my zodiac sign: Leo. We are the leaders of the zodiac. We are ruled by the sun. We are often “too much” for people. People are jealous.

I scroll through for the latest Leo meme. Nothing new. Exalted has been slacking lately and it’s pissing me off. I wonder who Exalted is and whether they are going through something traumatic. I wonder if they are single and/or rich. But mostly I just wonder when they’re gonna get over this slump and create some fucking memes that make me feel good about myself.

Exhaling, I unblock Tara’s number. I really don’t want to go back to the Blind Pig.

EMILY.

I stop believing in astrology for good and for real less than an hour before I see Beau’s birth chart.