I didn’t just pull this 2024 compatibility analysis out of thin air. This whole thing started because of my neighbor’s kid, Leo. He’s a total mess—a classic, restless Sagittarius. He’s trying to commit to his partner, Maya, who is a deep, brooding Pisces. They’re great, but their energy just clashes like cymbals in a small room. I watched them argue over moving a houseplant for forty-five minutes last month, and I realized I had to intervene, not with advice, but with data.
My Process: Digging Up the Dirt on Sagi and Pisces 2024
I knew I couldn’t just rely on those fluffy website horoscopes. To give them a real forecast, I had to roll up my sleeves and dive into the transit charts. This wasn’t a quick search; this was a deep archaeological dig into planetary movements.
The first thing I tackled was the long game. I printed out the full 2024 ephemeris, which looks like a telephone book of tiny numbers. I used a highlighter to map out every square, opposition, and conjunction involving the heavy hitters, specifically Saturn and Jupiter.
- Tracking Saturn in Pisces: I zeroed in on this placement first. For Maya (Pisces), this means responsibility, boundaries, and feeling weighed down. I recorded every day where Saturn made hard aspects to her natal Sun and Moon, noting that the relationship energy might feel heavy, like swimming through molasses, especially in the first quarter.
- Monitoring Jupiter’s Shift: This was the game-changer. I spent hours calculating the exact day—May 25th—when Jupiter, the ruling planet of Leo (Sagittarius), shifts into Gemini. This is a big deal. For Sagi, this means focus on partnerships, communication, and immediate relationships. I scribbled notes on how this shift would either amplify their fun communication or just lead to massive, dual-sided arguments because Gemini can be scatterbrained, and Sagi is already prone to foot-in-mouth disease.
I cross-referenced these major movements with the notorious Mercury retrograde periods. I identified three distinct periods of communication breakdown. For each period, I developed a simple, color-coded warning system. If they communicate during the shadow periods, things go red. If they wait until Mercury is direct, they have a yellow light. I spent a whole Saturday compiling all the data points onto a single large spreadsheet, trying to find patterns in the chaos.
What I discovered was a massive split. The first five months are tough. It looks like they’ll be walking on eggshells, constantly misunderstanding each other’s deep needs. Maya needs stability; Leo needs adventure. But after Jupiter moves in May, everything gets a jolt of energy. The second half of 2024—that’s when the “promising” part of the headline kicks in. If they survive the spring, the second half allows them to actually talk things out, not just argue around the issue. I distilled all my findings into digestible chunks, making sure to use language Leo could actually understand—no fancy terminology, just “Don’t sign a lease in April” type warnings.
The Real Reason I Have Time for Star Charts
Now, you might be thinking, who has the time to dive this deep into two random people’s love lives? Why am I spending my valuable time compiling detailed star charts?
I used to run the compliance division for a major fintech startup. We’re talking 80 hours a week, three phones ringing constantly, high stakes. I prided myself on my detailed planning; I was the guy who could spot a loophole from a mile away. I spent three years building that department from the ground up, making sure every single ‘t’ was crossed and ‘i’ dotted.
Then, the merger hit.
The new parent company decided my entire division was “redundant” overnight. No warning, no severance—just an email at 6:00 AM saying my key card was deactivated and my access to the company servers was revoked. I spent four weeks fighting HR just to get paid for my accrued vacation days. They acted like they had never heard of me. My previous boss, who I worked alongside for ten years, wouldn’t even return my calls.
I ended up having to hire a lawyer just to get them to acknowledge I existed. It was a massive, humiliating fight. I pulled out all the documentation, all the emails, all the paper trails I had meticulously kept. I fought the good fight and eventually got my due, but the experience left a nasty taste. I walked away from the corporate world entirely.
Now, I consult on my own terms. I set my own hours. I have the flexibility to actually read books, bake bread, and yes, spend forty hours researching the 2024 love forecast for two people who will probably just break up anyway. At least with astrology, the planets actually follow rules. Unlike corporate management. I applied the same meticulous organizational skills I used to track regulatory filings to track planetary alignments. It’s calming, in a weird way. It’s a project I started, I executed, and I finished—and no new VP can randomly scrap it.
I finally finished compiling the entire report yesterday. I printed it out on heavy card stock and laminated the key dates summary. I’m going to drop it off at Leo’s house later this afternoon. They might not listen, but I know I did the work. And the work shows: if they make it past June, 2024 is promising. If not, they’re toast.
