I’m dressed for the New Year. Got a smile stretched across my face that could hold up a heavy man’s washing. And I’m laced up in my new boots. I feel like a new man.
One small step for mankind, one giant step for me, and the New Year promises blisters and cream.
Actually, my December horoscope was gushing with accolades for me and all other Aquariuses. 2009 is going to be my best year ever. My ruling planet Uranus has come out of retrogade and is back up to speed. Planets have aligned. New moons are appearing. I’m going to stride forward in career and lick the world’s hair into a cowlick that’s going to make people take notice.
Bunkum, some may say, cringing in their own superstitions, but the horoscope is nothing but a guide. Like a lollypop man who guides you across a busy intersection. The words are empty unless you add the flesh and blood. And that is precisely what I will be doing. I can already sense the lone blood cell roaming around with this ether of possibility. I can already feel that things are moving at a constant rate toward what I want. And so this is directing my actions, this inner symmetry is aligning with the outer, I’m doing the work and the work is acting on me in every heartbeat.
What the horoscope promises and what I believe for myself are running on parallel lines.