You guys know I usually bang on about practical stuff, finance tracking, maybe how I finally debugged that old spreadsheet macro. But today? Today we’re diving into Susan Miller. Yeah, I know. Me. Reading horoscopes. If you told me five years ago I’d be spending a whole afternoon tracking key dates for a Virgo, I’d have called you crazy. But here we are.
The whole thing started when the big boss dropped the bomb. I mean, dropped it hard. I thought I was cruising to early retirement after thirty years of busting my ass in that same firm. We had the whole system mapped out: pensions, the summer cottage plan, everything. Then the restructuring hit. They didn’t exactly fire me, they just “reorganized” my entire department right out of existence. I walked out with a severance package that looked decent on paper but evaporated fast once I realized how much health insurance costs when you’re paying for it yourself. It blindsided me.
I spent two months just staring at the ceiling, honestly. My usual practical routines felt useless. I couldn’t even focus on refinancing the house. My spouse, who is a hardcore, classic Virgo—you know, meticulous, constantly organizing the sock drawer and stressing about deadlines two weeks away—was trying to keep us afloat, but I was a mess. She suggested, half-jokingly, “Why don’t you look at the stars? See what happens next.” I scoffed. I actually laughed. But one rainy Tuesday, desperate for some kind of structure because the corporate structure I relied on had betrayed me, I clicked open Astrology Zone. And that’s how I fell down the rabbit hole of trying to make sense of her monthly report for the Virgos in my life.
The Process: Decoding the Virgo Monthly Report
I didn’t just read the damn thing once. That Susan Miller, she writes a novel every month. Seriously. I opened the massive webpage, ignoring the thousand ads that kept popping up about psychic hotlines, and I scrolled down to the Virgo section. My goal wasn’t just reading for entertainment; I needed actionable key dates. I needed a timeline, something concrete to plan around, because my real-life timeline had just been shredded by people who smiled at me every day for three decades.
The first thing I did was grab a legal pad—old school, none of that digital crap for this level of concentration—and I skimmed the whole article first, maybe 5,000 words of Jupiter, Saturn, and Mercury retrograde jargon. It’s impossible to keep track unless you break it down, just like I used to break down quarterly budgets.
- I created three main columns across the top of the pad: Career/Finance (for my job hunt), Home/Family (because my house was suddenly the office), and Health/Relationships (because the stress was killing me).
- Then I went back to the beginning, reading sentence by sentence, and I highlighted every single date mentioned. Not just the big full moons, but the random “day seven” or “the twenty-first” or “three days after the New Moon.”
- I cross-referenced the dates with the corresponding topic. If she mentioned a “big financial gain” on the 14th because of a harmonious aspect to Jupiter in the second house, I wrote down “FINANCE BOOM – 14th” in the finance column.
- If she talked about potential delays or frustrations with paperwork due to a square aspect, I slapped a giant red circle around that date and labeled it “AVOID SIGNING STUFF, JUST STALL.”
- I had to keep flipping back and forth to the glossary at the bottom because she kept talking about the “ninth house” and I kept forgetting what the ninth house actually covers. Turns out, it’s travel and higher learning. I made a cheat sheet of the houses on the back of the pad so I didn’t have to keep scrolling.
This whole process took me nearly three hours. It felt like I was back in college trying to summarize a philosophy textbook, except this time the textbook was about cosmic energy and my spouse’s tendency to worry too much about taxes. I finished the summary, closed the laptop, and stared at my list. The sheer effort of applying analytical rigor to something totally fluffy made me feel productive again, which was the real point, I guess.
The Crucial Takeaways and Key Dates Revealed
By the time I was finished, I had a bulleted list of maybe twelve dates. I had distilled the Virgo essence into a few manageable milestones. This wasn’t about believing it would all happen exactly as written; it was about regaining control by having any kind of schedule to look forward to, even if it was written by a stranger looking at the sky.
For example, the major revelation I pulled out of the clutter was the 23rd. She called it a “Day of High Opportunity” linked to the sixth house—which is work routine and health. This aligned perfectly with the fact that I had an interview scheduled that week for a consultancy gig that I really wanted. Suddenly, that date wasn’t just another Tuesday; it was cosmically sanctioned, or at least, I decided it was.
And then there was the 5th. Marked in giant letters: Mercury Retrograde shadow period starts. Delays, technical screw-ups, misunderstandings. I immediately alerted my spouse to hold off on ordering the new expensive appliance she was debating until after the 25th, just to play it safe. If there’s one thing I learned from getting kicked out of my job, it’s that sometimes you just need to wait out the bad weather, whether it’s corporate greed or planetary movement.
Look, I’m still the guy who believes in hard work and spreadsheets. But when life throws you completely off track, and the people you trusted turn into strangers—like when my old department head, who I literally paid for his kid’s dental surgery years ago, wouldn’t even return my call after I got restructured—sometimes you need to look up. I started this project as a joke, a distraction, but I finished it feeling grounded. I had applied my project management skills to a source of chaos, and I produced a clear, actionable summary. And that, my friends, is why I now understand how to read a Virgo monthly horoscope summary better than I ever understood corporate politics. Give it a shot. You might be surprised what structure you find when everything else falls apart.
