It’s a rare moment that I read my horoscope in the daily paper. I used to check it out regularly for laughs, but lately not so much. It would have been better for my peace of mind if I had not glanced at it the other day. Much better.
There it was, on page two of the Island Life section, right next to Sylvia (“The woman who somtimes lacks empathy can always dredge up a bit for France”), and Annie’s Mailbox (“Woman finds her job unfulfilling, considers Air National Guard”), and the daily drama of advice for bridge players (“‘East opened,’ Louie said plaintively; ‘why not take the heart finesse?’”), and the latest Sudoku (reminding me once again why I didn’t major in math), and the New York Times Crossword (54 down, three letters, “___ vindice” [Confederacy motto], reminding me once again why I didn’t major in Latin).
So there it was, my daily horoscope, courtesy of the Honolulu Advertiser:
GEMINI (May 21-June 20)
Sail the seas of romance, but keep an eye peeled on business from your personal crow’s nest. New relationships may seem uncertain. Hold your course and be patient until storms of controversy pass.
As soon as I read these words I knew I was in trouble. The storms in my brain built quickly. Memories of bouts of seasickness on small boats, each memory colored by the most vivid physical sensations and events, replayed in the home theatre of my mind. Throw in acrophobia—a condition I attribute to having fallen off the family couch and broken my collarbone when I was six months old, so yeah, right, I just can’t wait to climb up into that crow’s nest during a storm—and I’m in deep trouble with this horoscope.
Let’s break it down, shall we? Sail the seas of romance, but ... hold on right there! I’ve heard this siren call before. I’d be happy to take a cruise on a large luxury liner, where there are no sails, and definitely no crow’s nests. Romance and violent seasickness do not mix. But if it is a romantic cruise, and I’m getting away from all the demands of my life on land, why do I have to keep an eye peeled on business? Right now I’m trying not to think about peeled eyes. I suspect that’s another metaphor, but I’m trying to drive it from my mind.
If I do decide to follow the advice and peel an eye on business, shouldn’t I keep my feet on the ground, or at least on the deck? But no, it has to be from your personal crow’s nest. Dammit, I don’t have a personal crow, and if I did I would leave it alone in its nest. It’s at this point, I notice, that the metaphor begins to eat my brain.
The next sentence in the horoscope seems innocuous enough. New relationships may seem uncertain. No metaphors here. And yet, I still feel a gnawing at my brain, and I know why. New relationships are always uncertain. So don’t waste my time with such drivel.
With what brain I have left I try to process the final sentence of the horoscope. Hold your course and be patient until storms of controversy pass. Storms of controversy? Storms of controversy?! It’s not enough that I’ve been assigned to a crow’s nest, but now we have to have storms at sea while I’m in the damn crow’s nest? The storms are totally redundant. I can be sick just climbing to the crow’s nest, or even standing on the deck and staring up at it.
Let’s recap what we’ve learned, before my brain is totally eaten away. Seas of romance ... check. Eye peeled on business ... check. Personal crow’s nest ... check. New relationships yada yada yada ... check. Patient during storms ... check. As I begin to lose consciousness, I seem to see sailors climbing to the crow’s nest to rescue me. Will they arrive in time?
While waiting for them, I realize that the Honolulu Advertiser is still clutched in my hand, and I notice for the first time the name of the person who wrote the horoscope, the person responsible for the dire state of my brain. Holiday Mathis is her name. I reach for the computer in my personal crow’s nest (well, it’s my crow’s nest, and I insist on the computer ... and WiFi), and I google Holiday Mathis, and her photo appears, staring back at me intently, perhaps studying the degree of my seasickness and the percentage of my brain that is still intact.
Then I click on the LA Times entry for Holiday Mathis, and I read this disclaimer: “The astrological forecast should be read for entertainment.” I want to send a strongly worded reply to the LA Times, to ask them if this is their idea of entertainment. And I want to write to Holiday Mathis and tell her exactly what she can do with her seas of romance and crow’s nests and storms of controversy. But I have no energy left, and the sailors have finally reached me in my personal crow’s nest. “It’s Holiday,” I say weakly, “she made me do it.” But they don’t understand. They whisper to each other about my brain. I close my eyes and wait for the storms of controversy to pass.
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