I’ll Get Right On That

It’s entirely possible that I’ve finally gone around the bend. It can’t be a surprise to any of you. I’m sure many of you have thought that I was crazy in the past. But here’s the thing—I’m fairly certain my horoscope actually yelled at me on Thursday.

No, I’m not kidding. I’m fairly certain it actually yelled at me. It basically said, “Stop complaining. If you want something, put together a plan and then make it happen already.”

The tone was quite terse and commanding (perhaps Scully is now moonlighting as a horoscope writer). It was as though my horoscope has given up on me. It threw its hands up in the air (because apparently, in my insanity, I’ve ascribed to the horoscope human attributes), and said enough!

I thought horoscopes were supposed to give me vaguely comforting information like: something, something moon is in something something orbit so someday a man might speak to you if you click your heels three times. It’s not supposed to chastise me. I mean, I joke that the universe and I have our troubles, but this is going a bit far.

What's next? Will it start using expletives? Will I pick up the paper and read, “B****, comb your hair and maybe familiarize yourself with the word “gym” once in a while”? Or “unless Chris Carter is paying you, you might want to focus on the job that is paying you, dumba**”? Or “interesting choice of outfit, I hear retro-homeless is really in style right now”? Or… well, you get the point.

Does this happen to you?

Kate, who is actually a little afraid to read her horoscope now