Right, so Eugenia Last’s weekly horoscopes. I got into a bit of a groove with those for a spell, not gonna lie. It wasn’t like I was planning my life around ’em, you know, but it became this little ritual.
It all started, funnily enough, when I was trying to get this ridiculous garden shed project off the ground. Total disaster, that shed. Every time I’d think, “Okay, this weekend, I’m gonna finally sort out those wonky shelves,” I’d find some excuse. Then, someone, I think it was Brenda from next door, mentioned she always checked her Eugenia Last horoscope before starting anything big. Said it gave her a “feel” for the week. Sounded a bit crackers to me, but hey, I was procrastinating hard.
My Weekly “Research” Phase
So, I started looking them up. Every Sunday morning, usually. Coffee in hand, pyjamas still on. I’d find the site, scroll to my sign – I’m a Taurus, stubborn as they come, apparently – and have a read.
Here’s what I found, pretty consistently:
- Sometimes, it felt like she was bang on. “Expect a minor financial hiccup mid-week.” And bam, the car would need a new tyre. Spooky.
- Other times, it was so vague it could mean anything. “An unexpected conversation could lead to new opportunities.” Well, yeah, that happens every week if you talk to people, doesn’t it?
- And some weeks, it was just… out there. Stuff about planetary alignments making me want to redecorate my entire house in shades of orange. Not really my vibe, Eugenia, bless her.
I’d read it, chuckle a bit, and then probably still not get to those shed shelves. But it was a distraction, you see. Instead of facing the splintered wood and my distinct lack of carpentry skills, I’d be pondering if “a journey of self-discovery” meant I should finally try that new brand of biscuits.
I even started checking my partner’s horoscope, just for a laugh. “You’re supposed to be feeling ‘adventurous and bold’ today, love,” I’d say. Usually got an eye-roll for my troubles, especially if they were trying to fix the leaky tap I’d conveniently “forgotten” about.
The thing is, it wasn’t about believing it, not really. It was more about the routine. In a weird way, it was like a little mental reset button. “Okay, that’s what the stars supposedly have in store, now what am I actually going to do?” Most of the time, the answer was “not the shed.”
Eventually, the shed project got so out of hand I just paid a bloke down the road to finish it. He did it in two days. No horoscopes consulted, as far as I know. And around the same time, I kinda drifted away from checking Eugenia Last every week. Not for any big reason, just sort of… did. Other things took up that Sunday morning slot, I suppose. Maybe the novelty wore off, or maybe, just maybe, I ran out of things to procrastinate on that felt important enough to warrant cosmic guidance.
So, yeah, that was my little foray into the world of weekly horoscopes with Eugenia Last. Didn’t find the meaning of life, didn’t win the lottery. But it was a harmless little habit for a while there. Kept me entertained, if nothing else.