I read the damn thing. “Read Your Free Weekly Love Singles for Pisces Today!” You gotta be kidding me. That headline right there? Total garbage. They churn that stuff out for every sign, every week, just slapping on the words “Luckiest in Love” because they know people are desperate enough to click it. And I clicked it. We all click it when the rest of our life is a total dumpster fire.
It’s not just these free love readings. It’s the whole spiritual-industrial complex that’s a total mess. One site tells you to wear orange for abundance. The next says orange is bad luck and you should meditate on the color mauve. You shell out fifty bucks for a candle that promises to attract a new life partner, and you end up with fifty bucks less and a kitchen that smells like cheap vanilla.
The Terrible “Practice” I Undertook
My particular reading for Pisces this week, the one that promised to be my luckiest, spouted some nonsense about “embracing the unclarified connection” and emphasized that the “key to your romantic destiny resides in a place of shared, quiet pursuit.” Then, the real kicker: wear something silver. Silver! I haven’t worn silver since high school when I thought I was a vampire.
But I was a desperate idiot, so I decided I would follow the advice to the letter. This whole experiment started because I needed a win, any win. I didn’t have time for ambiguity; I needed a human being to share a Netflix subscription with.
Here’s what I did: I looked for a place of “shared, quiet pursuit.” That ruled out the gym and the bar. So, I landed on the local public library’s weekly “Silent Reading Hour.” God, I hated the whole idea. But I put on the only silver necklace I could find—an ugly chain I found tangled in a junk drawer—and I showed up with a worn-out paperback.
I walked in, and the whole place was totally silent, naturally. I spotted maybe three eligible people. They were all buried in their books, actively avoiding eye contact. I sat down, I waited. The horoscope said a “conversation” would unlock things. How the hell do you strike up a conversation during a silent reading hour?
I tried to make my silver chain clink loudly when I adjusted my book. Nothing. I cleared my throat. Nothing. I finally built up the courage, leaned toward the woman next to me—who was maybe a Virgo, definitely not a Pisces—and I whispered, “Hey, the stars said I should talk to you about unclarified connections.”
She just stared at me. Her face said it all. The librarian looked over. I spent the rest of the hour staring at the same page, absolutely mortified. I slunk out of there, chain still clinking, having achieved nothing but making a fool of myself and probably getting banned from the quiet section.
How I Ended Up Looking at This Junk in the First Place
Why did I believe this “make this week your luckiest” garbage? I used to laugh at people who read their horoscopes. This whole self-experiment kicked off the week my life completely collapsed, same as the guy in the example who got locked out of his old job. It happened about three months ago.
- My long-term partner packed her bags while I was at work and left a note saying she needed “more space in the cosmos.”
- Two days later, my biggest client—the one I had based my whole freelance career on—sent a one-line email saying they were going in a “different strategic direction.”
- I called my best friend to vent, and he said he was too busy to talk. He wasn’t busy; he was on a cruise I should have been on, if I hadn’t spent all my money on rent.
I had nowhere to turn. Literally. I couldn’t pay my bills. The rent was late. My phone kept flashing with alerts from the bank. I wanted to call my parents, but I couldn’t handle the lecture. I wanted to text my ex-partner and beg her to come back, but I knew that was pathetic.
So, I isolated myself. I stopped answering the door. I spent three days just staring at the wall. Then, I opened my laptop, signed up for every free newsletter I could find, and started reading those weekly love horoscopes. They offered a totally fake sense of control. They promised that my luck was about to turn—just like my old company promised me a bonus that never came.
I believed that if I followed the ridiculous instructions—wear silver, talk to strangers in a library—the universe would snap my life back into place. It didn’t.
The night I whispered that pathetic line to the library lady, I went home, looked at my life, and realized that no amount of cosmic advice was going to fix my bank balance. The only thing that changed was the color of the clothing I was wearing that day.
I deleted all the newsletters. I unsubscribed from every “Manifest Your Dream Life” email chain. I spent the next morning firing off 20 freelance applications. I started calling the people I had been avoiding. The real luck came when I stopped waiting for the damn Pisces love forecast and started working on the actual mess I had created.
That website? It’s still running that same headline, “Make This Week Your Luckiest!” I see it sometimes. I just scroll past. The truth is that chasing these stupid articles keeps you stuck. The luck is in the work you do, not the clothes you wear.
