Tally ho, my tiny tragic nobodies! Last time we left, you were sliding down the slippery slope to giggling insanity. This was as a consequence of your mission to revive the custom of the imaginary friend. In doing so, you summoned the spectres of so many different fantasy chums that you began to wonder which one of the gathered multitude you actually were. The old troubles about identity and boundaries were cropping up again, like weeds among the wheat, my darling little twits!
So what did you do? You became dangerously confused. Are you still dangerously confused? Perhaps! Or perhaps you're certifiably confused by now. I have a suggestion. Let us consult the vile and bitter prognostications for manic March and discover the true tragedy of your current condition. I myself have no interest in the inevitable doom of your invariably baffling destiny. And yet I may be able to cast the briefest flicker of glee into what will doubtless be yet another of your darkest hours. Glee for someone else if not for thee! Read on, waffling piscatorial twits!
Of course, I'm late with the forecast so we will briefly catch up. Grim Saturn and narcotic Neptune cavorted obscenely and you felt ill as the month began. You were overworked, overwhelmed or overcome! Thus you sat down and fanned yourself, applied a compress or immersed yourself in the waters of a hot bath that then ran cold. A Full Moon came in irritating Virgo, bringing a Lunar Eclipse to your house of partnership. Thus you decided that you didn't want imaginary friends anymore because you weren't sure that they really liked you for yourself (always seeking the impossible). Thus, as the great Sol Invicti forced lewd congress upon Uranus, the idiot god, you jumped up and down, behaved in an eccentric manner, wildly instructing your imaginary friends to leave. Then it was mischievous Mercury moved forward and you realized that there was a primary confusion at work. If you could not say which was 'you' and which was an imaginary friend, then would you have to leave because you weren't 'you' or stay because you were?
Egad! Now that's a piece of solipsistic confusion one won't encounter every day, unless one is keeping company with you. And, on that vastly discombobulating note, we find ourselves in the present and apply our selves (all of them) to the dread task of prognosticative vileness, and bitterness as well. And that's not the end of the shenanigans! Not by a long chalk! By all the gods alive and dead, things turn seriously nasty as marauding Mars bonks the brains out of cranky Chiron (a brief foray really, for both). Thus does one group of imaginary friends advance on you with menaces aforethought, set on making mischief with your person. It must be said that actions of the 'aforethought' variety aren't common in your circle.
But what's this! Gadzooks! It's an oddly opposite occurrence! Vamping Venus slithers lustfully into cloth-eared Taurus and another group of imaginary friends steps up to offer succour. By the by, if you think 'succour' is a kind of antidepressant you haven't tried yet, kindly look it up in the dictionary so we can allay such concerns. Thus you stand there, menaced on one side and succoured on the other, worried that you may enjoy the former more than the latter but wondering if you could actually tell the difference when push came to shove. Discernment isn't one of your specialties. But, by my sainted aunt, the situation deteriorates further as all hell breaks loose in the Heavens. Mischievous Mercury returns to your sign, chasing a New Moon there, one that brings with it a Solar Eclipse. Heavens to Betsy!
You suddenly decide you really have had enough of your imaginary friends to last a lifetime so you fly into a rage and banish them from sight, instanter. As the great Sol Invicti clatters drunkenly into addlepate Aries, visiting another Equinox on an already over-burdened world, you go and get a job to earn some money as you're sick of hanging about, imagining things. Marauding Mars cranks his shaft into narcotic Neptune and you go out and spend your wages, listen to music, get drunk and have sex with someone you hardly know.
On the way home, you're so drunk you think the spirit of a long dead relative is talking to you. You become distracted while approaching traffic lights and have an accident, scratching the duco and spoiling the upholstery. You pass out at the wheel. When you wake up, you look around to discover you're not in the place where you lost consciousness. This is not an entirely unfamiliar experience. In fact, history would tell us it is an 'all too frequent' event in your life. But, by my little brown bottle, my tiny turnips! There's a mystery to be solved. Where are you? To what strange and unearthly realm have you travelled in the interim?
Sadly, as I'm expiring from creeping ennui and screaming tedium, you will have to click here next month to discover the worst, though I will give you a hint. The matter turns upon the saltatory gyrations of Uranus, idiot god, as he makes concupiscent congress with the Loony Nodes. Egad! A dire situation that can only get worse! For the nonce, ave, little twits!