The lunar new year of the dog falls in your sign, setting you up for a year of bounding energy, passionate loyalty, lots of attention, long walks on the beach, icecream buckets of water left outside the pub, being chained to telegraph poles, and a muzzle after you bite that kid.
The intimacy you seem to have developed with a comrade is a bit distracting for everyone else in the collective. Stop drawing lovehearts in the margins of the minutes book. Either choose between the two, or invite some democratic participation. But be warned: there is no ‘o’ in ‘team’.
You’ll get what you want this week, but there will be unexpected losses too. If you feel you’re being punished for something you haven’t done, don’t fret. It’s only a pre-emptive strike for something you might be capable of doing eventually. This is how justice works now, so get used to it.
After narrowly escaping a shark attack you decide to throw yourself into hostessing. You only just worked out that you get to demand time for yourself this year after carrying other people’s projects. No sense working when you’re so hot right now, if a little chewed around the edges.
I would advise you to walk round wearing a ‘Make an Offer’ sign this week if I wasn’t concerned about the flood of five dollar notes and rendezvous behind the bike sheds that would ensue. You’ll soon be presented with a chance to go public with some of the plans you’ve been secretly brewing.
Having just achieved closure and a sense of the true abundance of the universe, you move on to declare your commitment to your true passion in life, which is human-shaped and gently restrained in your living room. Please just stay home and gloat. You’re making us nervous.
You’re filled with a desire to cut yourself after losing the third or fourth friend of 2006 to your tactless vanity. Don’t bother. Let them tell you to go to hell; they’ll be queuing for autographs when you get back prettier than ever with your singed hair and skin grafts.
When Peter Jackson drops by to ask if he can make the film of your life, you start crying, ‘I’m not finished yet! There’s a better ending!’ He argues for Bad Taste, you for King Kong. Jump on board no matter what. You’ll have time to straighten out the continuity errors later.
You’re hardhearted and vulnerable this week. If you hadn’t over-committed already, I’d suggest you hide out ’til you stop making that involuntary whine. Fortunately you still derive pleasure from the drama of being you. I say fortunately, because no-one else sees particular benefits.
Everything will go surprisingly swimmingly for you this week, right up until the day you’re arrested for dole fraud and deported to wherever your most recent ancestral immigrant is from after an embarrassing public trial in which you decide to wear that adult-sized Azaria dress you had made for your sister’s wedding.
When Our Kylie sang about being so lucky, you were the kid dancing around while the others rolled their eyes. Lucky not to get hit by their sputum missiles. You’re still embarrassing everyone. Celebrate the year of the dog by sticking their noses in it while yelling, ‘Look at me now!’
The sun kicks you on the way out with a little karmic return from the recent past. It could come as a vicious debt collector; it could come as a bit of indigestion. The probabilities balance on your level of self-pity. This self-help column recommends self-love as a shortcut to self-esteem.
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