Are You a Fertile Blur of Supple Strength?

Dear Molly,

Question: Are you a fertile blur of supple strength?

Explanation: Sometimes, I like to read my friends' horoscopes to see what they might have in store for the future. My horoscope is generally full of crap, which is probably why I put it out of my mind and forget it completely by the end of the week.

Also, it's a horoscope.

But! That's not to say that it's not fun to read. And I do read it -- every week in the Village Voice, which publishes the syndicated horoscope column, "Free Will Astrology," by Rob Brezsny. I happened to read yours today, Ms. Pisces, and thought I might share it with you because it seems to describe a certain... theme? feeling? proclamation? you've been (fittingly) subscribing yourself to lately.

Anyway, read on, sister:

In honor of the new identity you're evolving into, I hereby give you the nickname of "Miracle Player," or else -- if you like one of these better -- "Sleek Cat" or "Giant Step" or "Fate Whisperer." You may hereafter also use any of the following titles to refer to yourself: "CEO of My Own Life" or "Self-Teacher of Jubilance and Serenity" or "Fertile Blur of Supple Strength." Feel free, as well, to anoint your head with pure organic virgin olive oil, fashion a crown for yourself out of roses and shredded masks, and come up with a wordless sound that is a secret sign you'll give to yourself whenever you need to remember the marvelous creature you are on your way to becoming.

Well, what do you think of that? Are you a Sleek Cat? A Giant Step, maybe?

Obviously, I have no burning question today, but if you really feel the need to advise me, maybe you can answer me this: Why is my horoscope always so wrong? Or -- as is most often the case -- why does it, without fail, employ that dime-store "you-have-great-hope-for-the-future" fortune cookie triteness?

It's just not fair. I want to be a Sleek Cat. Or a Fertile Blur of Supple Strength.

Best,
Kate