Fucking Freaky Stars...

I spent last night with Neale and Dani, checking out Bebida’s tapas menu and getting my palm read. When she last read my palm Dani predicted I would have a long life as long as I got through a life threatening incident.

I suppose I’ve had one of those now.

Interestingly, the scars on my hand cut straight through my love line and apparently, baring a little confusion early on, it may be plain sailing from here on in, emotionally speaking. Comforting.

In other news, from the encouraging world of crappy newspaper astrology, things may be lining up nicely on the job front:

It’s hard to relax when macho Mars is belting through your brilliant career sector. And why should you? The ideas flow is potentially lucrative and you’re too hyped to be mellow. Monday/Tuesday is especially profitable/inspirational. If you are seeking a date for one of your hideous Piscean “honesty-in-love” bursts of rad candour (just to freak out people used to your pass-agg mysticism), try Friday. Setting aside all logic, what do your instincts say re a particular path?

I’ve often been shocked at the relevance of my star signs to my life. Sometimes I even wonder if it may not be time to start putting stock in them. Can’t do any harm this week. Bring on the inspiration.