Proof that horoscopes are strange. And random. And somewhat schizophrenic.

Checking my horoscope for the week, while I prepare the horoscope strip for the Quesnel Advisor newspaper, I see that the next seven days will be a rollercoaster ride of conflict as I try to appease every aspect of my horoscope's recommendations. Observe:

You are best to stick to yourself this week.

Okay. I can probably handle that. I've been thinking I need some me time lately, anyway.

Get together with those you find mentally stimulating.

Like...myself? I mean, didn't you just tell me to stick to myself? How am I supposed to stick to myself while hanging out with people I find mentally stimulating. Unless I'm supposed to get together with them, then hide in the bathroom, thinking about how much I hate them.

Plan a nice evening for two.

Again, hard to do when I'm supposed to stick to myself. Unless I'm supposed to plan a nice evening for two, then dine alone and think about how pathetic and lonely I am.

Thanks a lot, Mr. Horoscope. Now you've made me sad.