Man, let me tell you about that whole period a few months back. Everything was just a complete dumpster fire. The startup thing blew up, I had to move back to the suburbs, and my dating life? Forget about it. It was less a life and more a series of embarrassing text exchanges and bad pizza dates. I was done guessing. Totally checked out.
I needed a system. Not one of those fuzzy, feel-good self-help guides, but a rigid, maybe even ridiculous, set of rules. Something I could treat like a very specific, badly written technical manual. I figured if I was going to fail, I might as well fail spectacularly, following some absurd plan. That’s when I stumbled across this monthly reading, the “Virgo Nazon” one, specifically focused on love.
The Setup: Grabbing the Instructions
I didn’t care about the astrology part, honestly. I just saw the instructions and thought, “Okay, here’s a project.” It had all this jargon—”Mercury’s second conjunction,” “The House of Emotional Decluttering”—which I immediately translated into practical steps. I didn’t ask anyone, I didn’t Google anything. I treated it like a closed-source document I just had to execute.
I
printed the damn thing out and pinned it to my corkboard next to my old server schematics. My interpretation broke down the month into three key assignments:
- The Contact Blackout: The chart said something about “avoiding initiating on days ruled by Venus’s shadow.” I looked up a quick calendar chart—Tuesdays and Fridays. That meant for the entire month, I was absolutely forbidden from sending the first text, calling, or even liking a story on Instagram on those days. Strict radio silence.
- The Location Lock: The reading oddly specified that only connections initiated in “places of historical significance or old brickwork” would “take root.” I live in a town full of strip malls. I found one place: an ancient, slightly dusty coffee house that was once the town’s first post office. I decided that was my only acceptable interaction zone for meeting new people.
- The Documentation Requirement: This was the most crucial part. I grabbed an actual, physical notebook—no digital notes, I didn’t want the timestamps messing with my head. Every night, I recorded the action (did I text?), the outcome (what happened?), and the vibe (did it feel aligned with the horoscope’s weird mood description?).
The Execution: Following the Absurd Rules
That first week was torturous, man. I almost broke the Contact Blackout rule three times on the first Tuesday. I had a perfectly good reason to message someone, too—something funny happened. But I held back. I literally put my phone in a drawer and walked away. I tracked the impulse like I was monitoring server latency. The result? The person I was thinking of messaged me an hour later, completely unprompted, about the same exact weird thing.
I wrote it down: “Tues. Day 1. Impulse averted. Input received. Alignment: High.”
Then came the Location Lock. Trying to meet someone new only at the old brick coffee house was weird. I spent hours sitting there, nursing an awful drip coffee, trying to look approachable while strictly following the ‘no approaching’ rule. I felt like an idiot. The prediction said “The universe delivers only to the prepared station.” It felt like a line from a bad sci-fi movie, but I treated it as gospel.
One Saturday afternoon, a woman walked in, saw my old worn-out paperback, and asked if she could borrow a pen. Simple as that. We talked for an hour. Normally, I would have rushed the exchange, tried to set up a date immediately, but the “Nazon” notes were telling me to stick to “sustained, observational presence.” So I kept the conversation light, just asked for her number, and walked away. No pressure. I wrote down the interaction: “Sat. Day 11. Location: Approved. Vibe: Low-key. Outcome: Contact info acquired. Wait for signal.”
The Realization: The End of the Project
Did the horoscope work? I don’t know. I’m still not convinced it was magic. But here is what I recorded at the end of the 30-day trial. The simple act of forcing myself to follow such weird, counter-intuitive rules completely changed my behavior. I went from being reactive and desperate—a disaster—to being measured and deliberate. I stopped chasing. I started observing. The Contact Blackout days taught me impulse control. The Location Lock forced me to be okay with waiting.
The whole purpose of the project, I realized, wasn’t to fulfill some cosmic prophecy. It was to give my chaotic brain a clear, albeit absurd, set of
constraints to operate within. It turned emotional guesswork into a data logging assignment. I still talk to the woman from the coffee shop, by the way. It’s the least dramatic interaction I’ve had in years. The Nazon reading got me out of my own way. Sometimes, you just need a strict, slightly nutty manual to stop hitting the same self-destruct button.
