When the Cheshire emerges...

My horoscope was bullshit today.

Pushing the argument of the validity of horoscopes aside, any day when they turn to the subject of love/companionship I usually baulk - purely because it's not relevant.

Today's was something along the lines of that I'm about to enter a new phase centred on love and that today in particular I may meet someone uncommonly interesting.

I left for work knowing exactly how my day would pan out and being pretty certain that it wouldn't involve meeting anyone new, let alone interesting.

I ran late for work, again, and didn't really care. The day was as average as any other day.

I was on a normal sub-editing shift, stumbled across two potential stories I couldn't chase because of said sub-editing, had slices of the Finnish apple pie I finally made for lunch (because I like my decadence and money's tight before pay-night tomorrow - and it tasted fabulous), read up on some Adelaide and Sydney news and did more sub-editing. Blah.

I did step outside to sit in the sun for half an hour and read Empire but that's as far from the workplace as I got. Chance of interaction with a stranger: minimal. I also went to a Relay For Life meeting (as I'm on the volunteer committee), and now I'm about to watch the soccer. Day over. Eventfulness: zero (unless the Socceroos win).

***

The point is really to say that giving me any form of excitement in this department through predictions hiding in the stars is unwise. Even if worded as nicely as it was today, I'd rather wake up to read something that's actually going to give me purpose to get through the day. Not crap that points out the everlasting lack of romanticism within my existence.