The cock crows three times
2017 04 02
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I think of astrology as, mainly, bullshit - or, indeed, total bullshit.
I don't give it any more validity than I would the idea that I can tell my fortune via the entrails of a goat, or the predominance of addled eggs any clutch of chickens lays. I think your fortune, and your future, are largely yours to make.
That said, every once in a while I catch myself reading descriptions of my sign, and quietly marvelling at their sometime precision in describing me - doesn't like to take centre stage, overly critical of self (and others), loves orderliness and things that are methodical - though I know that's coincidental. All things can describe all of us at any given time of life. You may be a centre-stage loving ego today, but tomorrow you might need to shy away from over-adulation and the public eye. You might need quiet. Today I am careful. Tomorrow, maybe not so much.
I don't like that which feeds superstition overmuch. We all have our ceremonies, of course; but the fact that every time I ate sausage that one year, Michael Schumacher would lose the F1 race, was purely coincidental.
I ate a lot of sausage that year.