I am a Sagittarius. What does this mean? It means I’m not, as an academic, supposed to care about what being a Sagittarius means. It’s like terrorism in my circles, or undiagnosed herpes. But I do, believe I mean. I’m the worst kind of rational academic in that I’m so irrational. Pessimistically invested in the wayward dreamer I tumble-dry in sad, slurp up the hilarious, and pine after the impossible. But as a wisher, a fighter, and a lover of the forgotten, I think loneliness has found a home in me for this reason. Perhaps because I respect it in my everyday. I don’t need it exorcised or socialized out of me. I don’t need my blanky and tissues, although I do really like my blanky and tissues. I just need to figure out what I can say about loneliness in 300 pages or more. I’m not sure how exactly, but I think that the constipation that accompanies writing a thesis—yep, literal and metaphorical— is not unlike my fear of bursting apart. Of exploding all over the roses in my neighbor’s shoosh, manicured garden.
I’ve been reminded over and over that to hold on too tightly to one’s baggage is not healthy; to let go of too much of one’s baggage is also not healthy. By the by to be healthy is to be both boring and bored with being so happily healthy. Following suit, to be lonely is to be unhealthy but not boring. Right? Who knows, this is only my second post. But with this in mind I have decided to be unhealthily ritualistic and begin every post with my horoscope. My yahoo.ca horoscope nonetheless. Why? Well, mostly, I think it’s important to begin my thoughts with a voice not my own. I’m sick of my voices. Yes, the ones in my head. Yes, I’m on medications for them thanks. But also, I have found myself over these past 5 years of grad school being urged to disregard the irrational, to get it together, and to keep it together where it has been got by me, the getter. We’re taught that coincidences are simply that. Santa, God, the Dodo bird never existed. Fidel Castro is not a zombie. George Bush was not actually an animated children’s series made by some hipster on Acid. My horoscope plays devil’s advocate to all of this taciturn certainty.
As an annoying aside I actually can’t stand Devil’s Advocates. They’re like people who say: “let me be frank” which really means, “let me be mean and say something to make myself look smarter, better, and make you feel like a bag of dicks.”
But I don’t see these horoscopes as frank reminders of my everyday. I see them instead as possible left turns I can choose to take or choose to flip off. That’s it. Some potential.
So, today I’ve got:
Horoscope for Sagittarius: September 9, 2011
Feel like talking? It’s not surprising — the universe is sending you extra special communication skills today, and they are going to help you make it a great day for getting to know new people. This is a perfect day for talking to people you want to impress — such as future in-laws, future employers and future significant others! Try not to think too hard or too long about what you want to say. It’s best to just let the words fly out of your mouth. Too much self-editing will cramp your style!
“Feel like talking?” Well, I guess I do. I’m blogging after all. Though, I’m blogging to myself so that makes me more narcissistic than chatty. Whatever. So far today the “universe” has sent me two Energy bills, a moldy piece of cheese, and a spider bite on my shoulder, but I’ll take “extra special communication skills” even if it does make me feel as though I’m a bit touched, in that way that always got me suckers and “extra special” Math help at school. Moving swiftly the rest of today’s advice: I don’t like meeting new people, especially now when I can barely keep the people I do know from throwing me from a train, so that’s balls. Can I fight with my Horoscope? Sure, I’m a Sagittarius I’d fight with anything. And for the record, that cop was a fucker. And I did not stutter.
Ok, so today I am to communicate. This is the synopsis of my prediction. Writing is thinking on paper, so I suppose this is what I am doing by starting work today. Communicating loneliness. Great.
Staring at the blinking curser on this screen makes me nervous. I’m supposed to start my thesis and so far I’ve barely gotten past my horoscope. Ya know? My wall needs a painting. My dishes need washing. I can darn my socks and re-invent the pet rock. My stairs need more stairs. My back yard needs yard. So, I’ll get back to you “The Lonely Gay,” later when I feel less lonely.