Libra (24 September – 23 October)
This week brings a real windfall for you, not in any sort of good fortune, but in the more literal sense of a powerful wind knocking a bunch of fig trees around until they collapse on your organic farm. Getting rid of the trees is crazy expensive—a real windfall for the tree removal guys.
Celestial influencers: A comically large rip in the seat of your overalls lends new meaning to the term harvest moon.
Scorpio (24 October – 22 November)
Your natural jealousy (more like preternatural, amirite Scorpio?! Please, put the pincers away) reaches frightening new heights after your next-door neighbor brings home a cronut and consumes it with conspicuous delight, the slow gusto of a hedonist. In response you purchase a Cuddle Mattress, install it on your front lawn, and have moonlit sex with your neighbor’s spouse while their terrier howls in excitement.
Celestial influencers: The Eye of Jupiter and the Eye of Sauron stage a staring contest for the ages, until a stray comet lands in Jupiter’s eye like a fly, and he blinks.
Sagittarius (23 November – 21 December)
Looking to impress a frisky hipster at your favorite café, you “analog-up” and buy a mammoth 1916 Remington typewriter, on which you plan to retype your long-suffering novel. After throwing your back out lugging the thing around, you pawn it for a ninth of its value, reconcile with your MacBook Air, and finally realize what the rest of us knew already: Cormac McCarthy must be jacked.
Celestial influencers: The Little Dipper’s inferiority complex continues to bloom, kindling sibling rivalries across the galaxy.
Capricorn (22 December – 20 January)
Venturing out to the cinema for the first time since faking your own death three-and-a-half years ago, you’re horrified to find yourself the subject of a bombastic “documentary” in which Judd Apatow, John Cusack, and Edward Norton portray literary luminaries. You leave after twenty minutes and retreat into permanent seclusion, muttering, “This is exactly the kind of horseshit I’ve been ducking the past fifty years… ”
Celestial influencers: Do Cusack and Norton still qualify as “stars?”
Aquarius (21 January – 19 February)
When your contact lenses dry out on the subway, your normally idiotic blinking morphs into Morse code for something unfathomably charming. The dreamy spy across from you grabs your arm and whisks you back to a secret penthouse for a night of mind-blowing who-knows-what. In the afterglow, the spy actually blows your mind out with a .357 magnum when you reach for the bedside laptop, asking, “You got any Family Guy videos on h—”
Celestial influencers: Saturn and the North Node are aligned in your first house, but at least the kids aren’t calling Saturn “Dad”… yet.
Pisces (20 February – 20 March)
Just one month into your “so cheap it hurts” diet of hot dogs, spaghetti, and eggs, you contract scurvy, to the surprise of no one. Post-recovery, you switch to a “so healthy it burns” regimen of OJ, Indian food, and super-high-dosage vitamins that trigger vomiting the instant they touch your tongue. You lose ten pounds, but now it hurts to swallow and there’s a hole in your stomach the size of your stomach.
Celestial influencers: The Kuiper belt tightens; we all start to feel a little claustrophobic.
Aries (21 March – 20 April)
Feeling especially bellicose at your weekly Scrabble game, you play SISSY and glare pointedly at your old friend and rival, McCutchen. McCutchen socks you in the nose and you lose the game, having wasted two esses and a blank on an eight-point play.
Celestial influencers: Mercury, wolfing down waffles at an interstellar diner, spills syrup on your star chart. Friendships get sticky.
Taurus (21 April – 21 May)
You’re laughed out of the room the first week of a free creative writing workshop (one you set up! I mean! Guys!) after showing up with a Mead marble composition book and a Dixon Ticonderoga #1 pencil which, per some jerk, is “smudgetastic.” Joke’s on them: Your writing is terrible no matter how you get it down.
Celestial influencers: If you want anyone to take your astronomy hobby seriously, you have to stop gushing about the “areola borealis.”
Gemini (22 May – 21 June)
You awake from an X-rated dream starring Margaret Atwood feeling a vague sense of shame, then run a Google image search for Atwood and decide, fuck it—she’s talented, she’s seasoned, and she looks just enough like Meryl Streep. Later, when Streep stars in a well-received Atwood biopic, you claim to have “dreamt this up years ago.”
Celestial influencers: Ursula floats the notion of calling herself a bowl instead of a crater, worries it might make her “sound too round.”
Cancer (22 June – 22 July)
The Big C! You’re so embarrassed about this week’s texting-induced Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (more like The Big CTS, amirite Cancer?! Please, put the claws away) that you tell all your friends you got a legitimate but “soul-sucking” office job where you acquired the affliction. Not wanting to look like a liar, you apply for and receive said position and find you love the benefits, steady pay, and structure of a nine-to-five, unofficially closing the book on your twenties.
Celestial influencers: Apollo shoots you a polite but firm email asking to please chill with the invocations, as no amount of divine devotion can rescue your poetry.
Leo (23 July – 22 August)
What coworkers had touted as a belated birthday party turns out to be an intervention: Your colleagues (and your parents, flown in from Ohio) are worried that you can’t stop talking about your fantasy football team. “It’s real to me!” you scream, eyes stinging. “Where’s the goddamn cake? You said there’d be a cake—(sob)—with Colin Kaepernick’s face on it!”
Celestial influencers: Boy, that Oort cloud looks ominous.
Virgo (23 August – 23 September)
The Apocalypse finally arrives with a stormy, scary new array of Four Horsemen: Narcissism, Loneliness, Archangel of the X-Men (the corrupted one from the ’90s cartoon), and Facebook. But you’re not there to see it, having been beamed up to Heaven for always using your turn signal.
Celestial influencers: Everyone’s heard about bells and angels, but did you know that every time a man feels vulnerable, Bon Iver gets a new checker on his flannel?
If your birthday is this week: Just, for the love of Jupiter, don’t be one of those people who refers to it as your “birthday week.”
Evan Allgood's work has appeared in McSweeney's, The Millions, LA Review of Books, The Toast, and The Billfold. He lives in Brooklyn and contributes regularly to Paste. Follow and maybe later unfollow him on Twitter @evoooooooooooo.