Look, man, let me tell you about my July. It was a total dumpster fire. Not mine, but my buddy M’s. This dude is pure Pisces, right? Textbook whiner, totally lost in his own head, always looking for an escape hatch from reality. His engagement with Sarah was already on the rocks, and he called me up one Tuesday, 3 AM, absolutely screaming that he was gonna torch his whole life, quit his job, and move to Bali to “find himself.”
I was half-asleep and honestly, I just wanted five minutes of quiet, so I had to throw some quick, stupid advice at him just to shut him up so I could actually think. I didn’t want to engage in an hour-long emotional deep dive. I needed a system, a framework, a quick fix, something to blame that wasn’t me.
I literally reached for my laptop, opened a new tab, and typed into the search bar, “Pisces love July what the hell do I tell him best advice” just hunting for some garbage authority to cite.
The Dumb Advice I Found (And Applied)
I landed on one of those shiny listicle sites. I was moving too fast to read the whole thing, so I just skimmed the main bullet points related to his sign and the month. It basically said, for July, Pisces needs to “pull back” and “reassess their emotional boundaries.” It also threw in some total crap about “The North Node aligning with past karma” and “The cosmic demand for solitude.” Whatever.
The core message I grabbed was “pull back.” That sounded practical. I figured if he pulled back, he couldn’t freak out. He couldn’t burn the house down if he was busy being quiet. So, I grabbed that simple headline, slapped it on a quick text, and hit send, just trying to buy myself a few hours of sleep.
What I TOLD M was this: “Dude, the stars say you need to ghost her for 72 hours. Not a fight. It’s for clarity. Tell Sarah that. It’s cosmic, M. Just do it.”
I clicked send and immediately put my phone on airplane mode. I had executed my maneuver. Now, I waited for the fallout.
The Messy Process of Tracking Star-Chart Chaos
M, bless his totally gullible Pisces heart, actually pulled the plug. He sent Sarah this weird, almost spiritual text about needing three days of silence for “celestial alignment” and then just stopped responding to her calls and messages. I had created a monster, and I started tracking the chaos from my end after I turned my phone back on.
- The First 24 Hours: Silence. I’m thinking, damn, maybe this stupid star chart actually works. I enjoyed the momentary peace I had bought myself. I executed the plan, and it resulted in a predictable, albeit fake, outcome of quiet.
- The Second Day: Sarah calls me. She thought M had finally lost his mind or, worse, was cheating on her and was too much of a coward to say it. She was weeping and demanding answers. I had to lie my butt off, mumbling something totally fake about “self-discovery phases” and how “we all need space.” The lie was already complicating my own life, which was the first huge, screaming red flag that my quick-fix method was trash.
- Day 3 (The Blowup): M calls me back in the afternoon. He didn’t find clarity. He found loneliness, paranoia, and a massive dose of guilt. He had completely freaked himself out. Sarah, completely fed up with his cosmic BS and my cover-up, didn’t just walk out—she moved out. She showed up at his place, packed her stuff while M was rambling about his “new emotional boundaries,” and she took the damn dog and half his record collection. My stupid “cosmic advice,” which was just lazy avoidance masquerading as wisdom, had basically accelerated the inevitable breakup by 100x.
I felt like a grade-A idiot, honestly. I tried to skip the hard part—the actual listening, the empathy, the complicated, annoying advice—and just threw an astrological platitude at him. It blew up in my face, and it made me feel really sick about myself.
This whole thing was the same as the time I tried to use a quick-fix Python script to manage a massive server when I knew full well I needed to set up a proper Kubernetes cluster. Cutting corners always costs more later. Always. Trying to find a shortcut, whether in programming or in romance, is what leads to catastrophic failure.
My Realization: The Anti-Advice That Actually Works
I sat there, looking at M’s pitiful apartment—the dog gone, the house quiet, the record player missing—and I saw the real problem wasn’t his Pisces nature in July. The problem was I tried to find an external system—a horoscope, a pre-written piece of advice, a checklist—to fix a deeply human, messy, internal problem. And that is where every single person gets screwed over, me included.
Why do people look to these charts? Same reason people try to find a perfect, pre-made framework for a complex software architecture. Because you don’t wanna do the dirty, annoying, tedious work of listening, debugging, iterating, and building something unique for the specific situation. It’s easier to point at a star or a GitHub repo and say, “That’s the answer, I followed the manual.”
The REAL Best Romance Advice for Pisces (or any messed-up sign, period) is simple: Stop ghosting. Stop waiting for the stars to align. Start talking.
This whole stupid experiment reminded me of a major failure I had years ago. I thought I could skip training the junior developers if I just gave them a 100-page manual and told them to follow the steps. They all failed, projects went south, and guess who had to clean up the month of lost work? Me. I tried to automate leadership and guidance. You can’t. You can’t automate love or emotional connection either.
M eventually had to stop hiding behind his “celestial clarity” and actually apologize to Sarah. He had to show up, admit he was a scared idiot, and talk about the real issues—his job stress, his commitment anxiety—not the planetary ones. It didn’t save the engagement, no, but it saved their friendship, which is a hell of a lot more than my lazy horoscope advice did.
So, if you’re reading this crap and thinking about using a star chart to manage your relationship in July—or ever—just stop. Close the browser. Call the person. Be honest. Be messy. That’s the only advice that ever actually works. Everything else is just a three-day silence that ends up costing you a dog and a record collection.
