Oh My Heavens

I don’t read horoscopes. I skim them. It’s because I can tell instantly if it’s applicable to my life. Like if the horoscope speaks of adventure when I’m home sick in bed, I’ll disregard it as a bunch of bunk. However, if it advises focus while I’m in the midst of a huge project or recommends imbibing when I’m headed to a family reunion, then I’ll take note. I’ll cut the dang horoscope out and laminate it. 

I’m really not sure why I bother. It could simply be because, every now and then, a horoscope says just the right words to soothe my soul and send me on my way.

But first, before any laminating, I had to get over my despair at my zodiac sign. Even as a kid, I’d bemoan, “Why, oh why, am I a Sagittarius?” I mean, what girl wants to be half horse and half man? With a bow and arrow nonetheless. Besides, it was never lost on me that the half horse part was the back end, if you get my drift. And a bearded man? A burly chested one at that. Face it, the centaur of my youth needed a bra more than I did.

How I’d pine for a different birth month, wishing I was born in late August and could be a Virgo! A young maiden carrying a sheaf of wheat. Exquisite. I’d have settled for even a crab or a scorpion. But no! My sign will always be essentially a horse’s ass.  

Eventually, I grew up, matured, left my whine behind, put it in my glass, and accepted my sign. But to this day, it never has made sense. Sagittarians are “adventuresome risk-takers, with a sharp business and sports mentality.” Has the zodiac ever met me? 

But who am I to argue with astrology? It’s been around since Mesopotamia. That’s the cradle of civilization, people! This idea that the placement of planets, sun, and moon can be analyzed and interpreted into predictions for our daily benefit is quite astonishing. Perhaps I should take it more seriously. 

So, today, I checked my horoscope at three different sites. The Washington Post’s said I should explore places I haven’t been. The Chicago Tribune’s recommended trying something new. And Cosmo said I should get outside my comfort zone. I picked that one, it’s kind of like traveling. Plus, I’ve never been there.

I’ve noticed this astrological Ann Landers doles out fairly universal, semi-helpful, advice. Therefore, aren’t horoscopes missing the full spectrum of being human? That some days are just hard. What if, instead of some positive-thinking maxim, our horoscope said the truth? Like, “today will be challenging, people won’t be nice, and you’ll drop something, maybe on your foot, it’ll hurt, you’ll curse inappropriately, and when you finally limp home, a stench from hell will tell you something has turned vilely rotten in your refrigerator, but you can’t find it because there’s too many containers of unidentified inedible leftovers and as you reach behind the bagged lunch you forgot to give your kid so they had nothing to eat all day, for a beer another one will land on your foot, yes, of course, the same one . . .” I think you get the idea. Some days are just like that. 

So, maybe occasionally getting a horoscope that reads, “For the love of god, don’t go outside today!” Or, “Are you kidding me, you haven’t flossed all week?” would be the perfect addition to their usual peppy prophecies.

Meanwhile, I’ll continue to read my horoscope. And, if I don’t like it, I’ll just pretend I’m a Virgo. Don’t worry, it’s okay I switch it up; I’m a Sagittarius, you know, an adventuresome risk-taker.

Carole Vasta Folley's In Musing column has won awards from the Vermont Press Association, The New England Newspaper and Press Association, and the National Society of Newspaper Columnists.