It’s too hot. Or not hot enough. The traffic is shocking. Mercury is in retrograde as are your finances. People are arseholes. Boris Johnson and his sexually incontinent lies are about to inhabit the seat of power but you are powerless with regards to that. And what makes it worse and really sticks in your craw is that you have to hope that he does a good job because you are a grown-up.
You have started raising your voice. Quite often. Sometimes you shout. Other times you genuinely scream, which is interesting because, historically, you are not a screamer. But it doesn’t make you feel better. None of this – none of anything – seems to be making you feel better. Nothing is getting better. And that feels odd.
You sense a build-up within yourself and it’s not curry. It’s fury. You are a Fury and at some point – sooner rather than later – everyone is going to know about it. The meditation isn’t touching the sides. Therapy? Sure, but whatever. Your back aches, your soul aches and you need to take action.
All the unprecedented signs are pointing to you going apocalyptic on someone’s arse. Possibly on many arses. You do not yet know what this will look like or feel like but you are sure of two things:
- You need release
- It’s not going to be pretty.
And, when you stop and think about it, you realise (because, not being a sociopath, you have some awareness of your people) that, if you are feeling like this, then lots of individuals are feeling like this. And that isn’t a tantrum, it’s a movement. What the fuck happens next? If everyone is going apocalyptic then does that mean that we are about to have an apocalypse of some form or other? Fasten your seatbelts, people… it’s nearly time for take-off.