Free Will Astrology

Years ago, I started following Free Will Astrology. He used to be publishing in the Philadelphia Weekly but isn't any longer (I don't think). In any case, his weekly horoscopes can be found online here: http://freewillastrology.com/home.shtml I also follow his facebook page. It seems eveyone who is anyone follows someone on facebook. Hah!

So on his facebook page he posted this, and I found it rather enlightening. I nneded someone to give me permission to do this. Although, somehow I feel like he's saying, "You only have to get permission from yourself to do this and it's ok to do this."

UNHAPPY HOUR
You're invited to celebrate Unhappy Hour. It's a ceremony that gives you a poetic license to rant and whine and howl and bitch about everything that hurts you and makes you feel bad.
During this perverse grace period, there's no need for you to be inhibited as you unleash your tortured squalls. You don't have to tone down the extremity of your desolate clamors. Unhappy Hour is a ritually consecrated excursion devoted to the full disclosure of your primal clash and jangle.
Here's the catch: It's brief. It's concise. It's crisp. You dive into your darkness for no more than 60 minutes, then climb back out, free and clear. It's called Unhappy Hour, not Unhappy Day or Unhappy Week or Unhappy Year.
Do you have the cheeky temerity to drench yourself in your paroxysmal alienation from life? Unhappy Hour invites you to plunge in and surrender. It dares you to scurry and squirm all the way down to the bottom of your pain, break through the bottom of your pain, and fall down flailing in the soggy, searing abyss, yelping and cringing and wallowing.
That's where you let your pain tell you every story it has to tell you. You let your pain teach you every lesson it has to teach you.
But then it's over. The ritual ordeal is complete. And your pain has to take a vacation until the next Unhappy Hour, which isn't until next week sometime, or maybe next month.
You see the way the game works? Between this Unhappy Hour and the next one, your pain has to shut up. It's not allowed to creep and seep all over everything, staining the flow of your daily life. It doesn't have free reign to infect you whenever it's itching for more power.
Your pain gets its succinct blast of glory, its resplendent climax, but leaves you alone the rest of the time.
If performed regularly, Unhappy Hour serves as an exorcism that empties you of psychic toxins, while at the same time -- miracle of miracles -- it helps you squeeze every last drop of blessed catharsis out of those psychic toxins.
Pronoia will then be able to flourish as you luxuriate more frequently in rosy moods and broad-minded visions. You'll develop a knack for cultivating smart joy and cagey optimism as your normal states of mind.
Now let's get you warmed up for Unhappy Hour.
First, let me hear you groan.
Second, let me hear you howl.
Third, let me hear you sigh.
Now say or sing these declarations:
Life is a bitch and everything stinks.
My pain is so bad I can hardly think.
I'm afraid to live, I'm afraid to die.
The world's so messed up, I can't even cry.
OK. You're almost ready. When I say GO, you will have as much freedom as you want to dredge up and steep yourself in your savage sorrow, your unspeakable doubt, your shrill anguish, your secret shame, and your fearful fantasies.
Give yourself permission to make guttural moans, rueful cackles, or animalistic growls and squawks. Argue with God or your parents or the past while blurting out manic, explosive wails. Allow yourself to be crushed and dissolved, flung around and flayed, appalled and unhinged.
And while you're at it, use the clean white space on these pages to scrawl down curses, scratch out narratives, or scribble symbolic drawings incited by your misery.
Later, make photocopies of these curses, narratives, and drawings, and conduct a ceremony of purification, burning them to ash, being careful not to set your house or the woods or yourself on fire, too.
As you burn, pray that you will extract all of the mojo you possibly can from the pain, and that the pain will make you smarter and wilder and kinder and trickier.
Pray that you will grow to feel gratitude for the pain, thereby turning the pain into a blessing and diminishing its power to hurt you.
Ready? Get set. GO. Be unhappy -- but for no longer than 60 minutes.
Sacred Advertisement
Unhappy Hour is brought to you by the origin myth of the Iroquois' Thunderbird Clan: Earthmaker woke up to realize he was the only being in the universe. Out of the depths of his loneliness, he cried, unleashing a flood of tears that became the oceans and rivers and lakes of our world.

My how the time does fly!

How is it possible that my last post was the beginning of June?! June! So much has happened and so much hasn't, I don't even know where to start. Should I start with how my grandfather was diagnosed with stage two lung cancer? Should I start with how my cat is so stressed as well that she's currently on valium? Should I start with how that deal with the Lubavitch for the house fell through? Should I start with how my mother has be so crazed I'm ready to climb the walls? Should I start with the vacation I took with Rabbis Daughter to Savannah, which should have been oh-so-pleasant, wound up making both of us sick and it took me a whole extra week to recover - just in time to be sick with my period? Lovely! Should I start with how because of said vacation I got three months behind with the bills and have no way on my own to get them up to date? (I love having to pay my mother's bills that she created wtih her then $150K salary with my salary that is only a fraction of that) I have no idea. I haven't been able to focus all summer and that's why I've been sort of MIA for awhile. Through all of August I didn't even keep up with my friends I just sort of fell off the face of the earth and was wallowing in it a bit. **Sigh** I know eventually my life will go back to being mine. I keep hoping it will be sooner rather than later.

Oh, and did I mention that somehow I agreed to be the Gipper's friend again? Yeah, cause that's how I roll! How do I let myself be coerced into these things. I'm realizing, I really can't be his friend. And I'm realizing he doesn't make a very good friend to begin with anyway. Gipper! If you somehow found this blog, Call Me! But only if you intend to take me out on a date. A REAL date. If you have no intention of that, then please, be a friend, AND LEAVE ME THE F**K ALONE!!! I've had enough. Of your Bull S**t. Of your just wanting to be freinds. Of everything. Oh, and if you do decide you have enough balls to contact me, PLEASE call on the phone! Not text. Not IM. I want an honest to G-d voice on the other end of the phone!!! Gahhh!

Well, that pretty much sums up my summer. Now back to your regularly scheduled lives. Hopefully mine will switch back fromt he static it's been on for the past five years soon as well.