Some days feel scripted. Others feel like the universe is throwing paint at a wall and calling it abstract art. Today was that second thing.
I woke up to an empty frequency. No birds. No cars. Just pure, unfiltered void. Reality held its breath. Venus Retrograde at 10 degrees Aries is a cursed song I swore I’d deleted, yet here it is, skipping, replaying, gaslighting me into thinking I liked it in the first place.
I lay there, waiting for the world to remember how to function. Was this a beginning, or a rerun? The ceiling refused to answer.
Corporate Hunger Games: The Circus Act Continues
The clock ticked. I blinked. Work loomed in the distance, like a loan shark tapping its watch.
Emails. Tasks. Clicking. Typing. Pantomiming productivity while my soul attempted to astral project out of my body. The air felt thick, like the walls had opinions. Venus Rx perched on my shoulder, rolling its eyes.
“We’re doing this again? Seriously?”
I ignored it. I did the work. I checked the boxes. The universe pounded on the door. I threw a blanket over my head and pretended I wasn’t home.
Riding Shotgun in Someone Else’s Chaos
Work ended. Or at least, the part where I pretended to care was over.
I got in a car. Passenger seat. No exit strategy. No rewind button. The driver spoke, steady, present. The road stretched ahead, indifferent. I nodded. Venus Rx sat beside me, vibrating like a loaded gun, daring the universe to make the next move.
Then: a protest. A crack in the simulation. People standing. Yelling. Existing at full volume. Venus in Aries doesn’t whisper. It detonates.
And me? I just sat there, an accidental bystander. Because plot twist—I’m Canadian.
Not my country. Not my fight. Not my circus, but definitely my monkeys.
What was I supposed to do? Jump out and dramatically nod? Start chanting in a politically neutral yet supportive manner? Hold up an invisible sign that says “I Am Witnessing This” like some metaphysical referee?
The car slowed. I stared. Near enough to feel it, far enough to pretend I wasn’t part of it.
How long can you hover at the edges of something before you start disappearing entirely?
Laundry: The Art of Pretending to Have Control
Home. The walls were too quiet. They knew something I didn’t.
Venus Rx thrives on dismantling the familiar. So I did laundry. Not a chore. A plea to the gods of routine. A last-ditch effort to re-establish dominion over my own life.
I threw the clothes in. The machine groaned, a washing machine séance, summoning ghosts of past mistakes and lint.
I closed my eyes. The hum of surrender. The scent of detergent-fueled optimism. Cleansing, but only on the surface.
Route 66, a Cheeseburger, and the Universe Audibly Laughing at Me
Somehow, I ended up at a bar and grill on Route 66, the highway people take when they need to rethink their entire existence but still want fries with it.
Venus Rx at 10 degrees Aries is a detour disguised as a destination.
I chewed my food, processing the absurdity of my own life. Across the table, the past me and the future me sat there, judging.
“So? What’s the plan, genius?”
Somewhere between a bite of food and a sip of my drink, it hit me: This was the moment.
Am I waiting for my life to start, or am I already in it and just refusing to read the script?
Final Answer: Burn the Script, Steal the Camera.
Venus Retrograde doesn’t care about your comfort zone. It flips the set, wrecks the props, and dares you to improvise.
Today was a mess of detours, glitches, and passive-aggressive cosmic nudges. Work. A car ride. A protest I wasn’t in. A load of laundry that solved nothing. A meal on a road that was never mine.
I don’t have clarity. I don’t have a plan. I only have forward motion, and maybe that’s the point.
Venus Rx in Aries says: Move first, understand later.
Fine. Let’s GO.