Given how much stock I tend to put into my horoscopes, I am highly disappointed in them this week. You would think it would be the obligation of a horoscope to WARN people about CLEAR AND PRESENT DANGERS in their world. Apparently, that is NOT in fact the case, or else my horoscope would surely have warned me away from doors.
First, there was Tuesday, where a door smacked me in the face and chipped my tooth. Then, there was Saturday night.
I was outside smoking a cigarette with Flexible. I was saying something to him as we walked inside, and apparently in a remarkable feat of uncoordination, I cracked myself in the head with the edge of the door. I opened up a charming vertical gash in my forehead that a) did not stop bleeding for an hour, b) made me feel dizzy and nauseated for an hour, and c) made a particularly wonderful first impression on the whole giant tableful of Flexible's friends who I was just meeting that night. Actually, the new cut matches very well with the pre-existing vertical slash in my forehead, acquired while starting a revolution on a German train several years ago.
My horoscope should also have warned me about bottlecaps, as I have two slices on my right index finger from trying to open bottles this weekend.
Also distressing: when one is having a conversation about relationships, and out of nowhere start crying one's stupid head off in a completely unforeseen reaction to what appears to be some kind of unresolved daddy issue revolving around trust in a relationship. Particularly distressing when one has prided oneself on not having any unresolved issues regarding a father that one really does not particularly like and has neither seen nor spoken to in over three years.