The Grind Behind September’s Fish Forecast
Okay, so maybe you’re wondering why I bother dropping these monthly reads. It’s not like I’ve suddenly become some airy-fairy guru. Nah. It’s a job. A practice. And like everything I do now, it’s about control. I pulled the plug on the corporate garbage fire three years ago, and now I document everything, even if it’s just figuring out what’s up with the dreamy Fishes this September.
You can’t just feel a horoscope. You gotta put the work in. You gotta track the planets. My process starts the same every time, and it’s a lot less mystical than the results look.
Phase One: Mapping the Sky Grind
First thing I did was yank up the monthly transit calendar—the ephemeris, if you want the fancy word, but honestly, it’s just a list I downloaded and customized years ago. I’m not sketching charts with a compass, come on. I locked in on September 2024. For Pisces, the whole vibe shift hits them right where it hurts—or helps, depending on how they’ve been managing their life lately.
- I checked the big markers: Where is the Sun? It’s rolling through Virgo, then slips into Libra. For Pisces, this means the focus is slammed onto the 7th House (partnerships, agreements) and then the 8th House (shared resources, deep transformation, and let’s just call it what it is: other people’s money).
- Then I isolated the rough patches. The big news for September, and the part I always lean into, is the Mercury Retrograde shadow period. It’s not officially retrograding for the whole month, but the vibe is messy. I noted down the sign it’s doing its dance in, which for Pisces means contracts and communication get a little swampy.
- I tracked Jupiter and Uranus in Taurus. That’s hitting the 3rd House for the Fish—the house of communication, short trips, and early learning. This is huge. It means unexpected shifts in their day-to-day rhythm. I flagged that interaction as a key theme for the whole write-up.
This process takes maybe an hour of just staring at the numbers and symbols, but it’s the foundation. You can’t tell someone to expect a windfall if Venus is squaring Saturn in their money sectors. It just doesn’t work that way. I wrote down all the aspects that were within a tight three-degree orb, focusing only on the slow movers and the major conjunctions.
Phase Two: Drafting the Reality Check
Next up, I sat down and started typing. I don’t use flowery language. I refuse to write about “cosmic destiny” or “aligning your inner child.” People who read these things are mostly just trying to survive their month. My goal is to translate the star math into practical, everyday advice.
I drafted the sections: Career, Love, Money. I made sure every prediction had an associated verb telling them what to do. Don’t just “expect a change”—you need to “review old contracts” or “delay signing major papers until after the 25th.”
Why do I care so much about this down-to-earth approach? Why the meticulous documentation of a simple blog post? I’ll tell you why. Because I got burned. Badly. And now, everything I put out is proof of my own labor.
Phase Three: Why I Left the System
This whole low-key content life, this sharing of my little practices, wasn’t a choice so much as a forced evacuation. You see me now as a blogger, stable and sharing. A few years back, I was the Senior Content Lead at a major digital media firm. We’re talking millions of views a month, 80-hour weeks, the whole shebang. They dangled the carrot—VP of Digital Content, six-figure bonus, the lot. All I had to do was manage the team through the Q3 pivot and deliver a 40% growth metric.
I delivered. We hit 51% growth. I slept under my desk for two weeks straight just to nail the final campaign launch. I put in the time. I earned the title.
What did they do? The day the Q3 numbers were presented and approved, my boss pulled me into a glass office. He slapped a separation agreement on the table. Said the role was “restructured.” Said they “couldn’t afford the bonus” but would give me a “generous severance”—which turned out to be two weeks’ pay and a non-compete clause that would have starved me.
I refused to sign the papers. I walked straight out the door, leaving my laptop on the desk, still logged in. I blocked every single work number, every corporate email address, and every LinkedIn connection I had from that place.
The kicker? Two days later, my old assistant—who I trained, who I mentored—sent me a private message from a burner account. She told me they hired the CEO’s nephew for my “restructured” role. The one I earned. He had zero experience. He was getting the salary and the title they promised me.
That incident shattered my belief in the corporate promise. It taught me one thing: never do work that someone else can easily take, erase, or deny. Now, I create my own work, I document my own process, and I share my own results. That’s why I take the time to map out the Pisces horoscope, why I write it down plainly, and why I post the whole damn thing for free. It’s a record of my practice, and nobody is taking it away this time. I finished the draft, ran it through a spellcheck, and hit the publish button. Done. On to the next project.
