My Telegraph Magazine (stolen from work) horoscope (read religiously) tells me change is afoot for Gemini's. ‘Do what you want for change,’ it reads. Hmm. I’m pretty sure I always do what I want and get in a strop if made to do otherwise. But I’ll take the advice and continue to do what I want, but with added vigor because now I know I am meant to do it, it’s in my signs.
Grimsby Telegraph, one of the local paper delights I sample on a daily basis, has another view. Their Russell Grant tells me to postpone chores, which I liked. Whatever you say Russell. But the Wolverhampton Express and Star told me Mars was taking charge of me and that I should dismiss doubts.
You might think these weird and varying takes on being a Gemini would put me off believing in all this stuff, but nope, it just makes me love it more. I don’t have to do chores, I can do whatever I want and take charge of my doubts. Or something. I’m not really reading it properly, just skim reading while I search for the complimentary bits and ignore the bits where it tells me I am sometimes neglectful of my loved ones. Pipe down Russel Grant! What do you know! If you haven't got anything constructive to say, don’t say it.
I do like being a Gemini though, it’s always worked well for me. We have two personalities, you see. That’s two people for the price of one. Bargain. We also have the gift of the gab, I was told once by a hippy with a joss stick. Went to school with a girl called Joss Stick. Nice girl, smelt a bit funny though.
In a nightclub around the time I wrote this entry in my beautiful notebook which my pesky nephew has since vandalised with his yobbish scrawlings, that is to say, a long time ago, (it takes me a long time to get the words from my notebook to the computer. It’s because I’m so busy with my dual personality. It’s tough being two people) Laurence managed to twat my eyeball with his dirty fingernail mid gesticulation. My contact lens flew out and my eye stung like a bee had bummed it. Or, I was to find out a month later, a flea had crawled inside it and biten me from under the lid. But that’s a story for another time. Right now, I was bleeding from my eye and running to the grotty loos with my contact lens on my tongue.
Evaluating the damage in the club loo, I was surprised to see Laurence had actually managed to draw blood from my eye ball. But even more shocking was the reaction I got from my new ‘homies’ in the loo. I think they were homies. Is there a new word for them since I left London and got a bit less street? My bitches. They were my bitches.
WHO HIT YOU? One screamed, puffing out her chest protectively, salivating at the thought of a good fight.
It all got a bit primeval then as the other girls, drawn by her shouts, gathered around me to assess the damage, plan revenge and offer me make up and tissues, for I may have been crying.
For extra attention.
No, it really did hurt.
A bit. I was drunk. I was getting a lot of attention.
Who was it? I’ll fucking have him! One shouts. She may have even punched her fist into her waiting, cupped hand, in anticipation.
You’re bleeding! I’ll deck him! She says.
Realising I was in the sort of nightclub where girls often ran into the loo in tears, blood dripping down their faces after another fight with a violent boyfriend, I realised I now had the power to get Laurence beaten up by a bunch of girls.
Now that would be funny.
It took a lot to resist describing him to my harem.
I would have done it, if Laurence wasn’t a fellow Gemini. That’s where my allegiance lies. With the Geminis. Sorry ladies.
"The composition of my soul is made, too great for servile, avaricious trade.
When raving in the lunacy of ink, I catch my pen and publish what I think."
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