Today I wrote my own destiny. Not in the corny make-your-own-decisions kind of way; I actually sat next to the guy who writes the Zodiac predictions for the newspaper and told him what to write under Libra. It wasn’t an imposition, he was just tired of bullshitting and had a couple of lines left to fill.
I never believed in zodiacs – ok, fine, I read a few in a teenage magazine when I was 13 – because I had a hunch the generalized predictions and quixotic statements were a bit of guesswork, kind of like predicting the weather, but working for a newspaper has opened my eyes to the sad truth of destiny: in life there are two kinds of people, the ones who feed on bullshit, ignoring all the logical signs pointing to what can only be a ridiculous fabrication, and the ones who make a career out of producing such junk.
Today, I am in the second group. But don’t worry, I have no ambition to become the next Walter Mercado, in fact, it made me feel a little dirty to tell the zodiac guy to write “today you will be pleasantly surprised with a piece of good news”. What of the poor Libra schmuck who reads this and waits all day for a job offer, a love confession or the winning number of a lottery ticket (certainly someone who reads the newspaper zodiac is the kind of person who buys the lottery)? Chances are, they will be disappointed, but actually, it would be worst if he did get good news, because then he would inevitably become hooked to our sad, little zodiac and carry on an ascetic existence.
Now, lets not take pragmatism to an extreme, after all, fortune cookies rule!