IKNOWRIGHT, it’s the worst right now, waking up and longing for the dusk of this weirdass day. Longing for The Moon to swoop in like some sexytime gypsy orb. Problem is, The Moon is not that, she’s more like a combo librarian/poker master who insists that you shut up and refuses to show her hand. She is not who any of us feel like spending more time with, right now.
This is hard news for a fortuneteller to deliver. Anybody seeking a reading in the first place, is seeking clarity. A directive. Transparency. In general, no querant gets excited upon hearing “you don’t get to know,” or, worse, “quit asking.”
What I can offer, right now, is that it’s fine to be dissatisfied with this. It’s fine to be just flat-out pissed at the lack of answers. The thing about The Moon, scientifically speaking, is that she doesn’t care whether you think she’s hot. She will continue to push and pull your tides even as you stomp around. She will glow in your dark, maintain gravitational pull, urge you to howl.
The Moon says, howl.