I went to the village bookstore today. The lady that owns it does astrological charts and has the cutest dog ever. Bean – an elderly brown brindle boston terrier whose tongue hangs out of his mouth 2 4 7.  I’m looking for some direction as my grad-school career winds down.  Here is the re-cap. I’d say she’s got me pegged even though I don’t know the exact time of my birth… third child and mom didn’t even write it down. Now I am doomed to a lifetime of semi-accurate astrological readings. FAIL mom.

She told me to stay away from men who are drug addicts or otherwise addictive personalities and I tend to attract men who want to siphon my energy because I am full of life and then I end up being the one who is not full of life anymore. Damn Sycophants.
She sees a hole- the loss of my father.  She pointed out that I will hold every man I meet up to an impossible standard as a result and that I won’t ever really find anyone who will top him but that I can realize that there are other things about men that will make me happy.
She said I am very artistic, have a penchant for teaching and communication, or that I should be a writer.
She said I need to be near water because it feeds my creativity and my intuition, but that I need to be careful of it.
Said it looks like I will die a quick death.
Said I was aggressive.
Said I should live a wild life, travel, and write about it… had some wild times- craving more wild times.
Said it looks like I will marry multiple times.

She said I was psychic.  I knew she’d say that.

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