Spring has sprung, and flowers are blooming. In fact, everyone everywhere is blooming except for you, dear Capricorn. Dry, parched days lay ahead, so this month is the perfect time to join a local knitting circle or Wiccan cooking class. Or any other group that would never be described as “dewy.”
If you choose to be happy, happy you will be. Just not any time soon because you’re a woman over forty. Is this new anger because of hormones or because your moon is rising? Or from some other planetary shit we astrologers make up after knocking back a few mojitos? No idea. You’re just going to be really pissed off for a while.
Your natural tendency to be adventurous has been derailed now that your time of the month no longer uses a calendar and just comes and goes as it damn pleases. But don’t let your inability to confidently wear white pants keep you from traveling, dear one. You can probably make it to the nearest Piggly Wiggly and back for a tub of mint chip.
When you place your head on the pillow tonight, try not to look back and wish things had been different. Cinnabon seemed like a good idea at the time.
The weather is warming up, and so are you. Like a lot. Like John Cena-after-he-power-lifts-a-Plymouth hot. Chuck the sweaters and get a few tank tops to stay cool. Or maybe just go au naturel until you become a debated topic on Nextdoor.
You’ve got enough moods for several people, Gemini. They don’t call you “The Twins” for nothing. Spring brings up and down emotions as well as allergies, so careful mixing prescription drugs. Go back to binging The Kominsky Method and fantasize a three-way with Michael Douglas and Alan Arkin, who consider you jailbait.
Venus is moving through Uranus, so you’re still invisible to most everyone, except the dog at the park who mistook you for a live oak. Sensitive Moonchild, take comfort in knowing that at least someone is giving you attention.
Your rising sign has given the proverbial middle finger to your moon sign, so gird your loins, Leo. This is not the time for any “refreshening” of your face. And not just because your doctor was caught plumping more than just lips with his nurse practitioner Tiffanie. The stars predict a purchase of oversized sunglasses.
Always in control. Always on top of your game. Except for now, when your emotions are on one of those unregulated roller coasters at the state fair. Younger friends may comment, “She’s going through her changes!” and avoid you like it’s catching, but don’t despair. They’ll soon know the fiery hell you speak of, and then you can laugh at them from your couch. Just don’t laugh too hard. Sangria stains.
Whoever said, “Today’s not your day. Tomorrow doesn’t look good either,” was referring to you, dear Libra. You flip-flop about everything. Shall I splurge on sherpa booties for my goldendoodle or buy another sexless librarian cardigan? Make a damn decision, lady. Use that AARP discount.
Sorry, but don’t expect any celestial delights this season. While you might still be channeling your inner Carrie Bradshaw, your vibe is more like a background extra from Murder She Wrote. But have no fear, Scorp. Amazon Prime has a great “personal massager” section.
The explosive rage you’ve been feeling lately isn’t going away soon. In fact, it’s here to stay. If you’re not on hormone replacements yet, dear Saggy, you might want to consider it. Will they make the volcanic anger disappear? Probably not, so be sure to sign up to speak at the next school board meeting on book banning. Use your perimenopausal powers for good.