Man, May 2019. That was a whole thing. I remember feeling really keyed up about that Virgo monthly forecast. Everyone was talking about some big shift, you know? Like, it wasn’t just a standard month of grind; it was supposed to be a massive leap for a certain kind of project, a complete turnaround on something financial I’d been sitting on. That’s why I went all in.
The False Start and The Big Lie
I had this old classic car body sitting in my garage. It was just gathering dust, a relic from a project I thought I’d never finish. The early May prediction—and I read like three different blogs, just to be sure—shouted about taking calculated risks, especially if they involved resurrecting something you’d given up on. It was like they were talking directly to me and that rusty piece of junk. It said the universe will back your bold moves. So, I took my last bit of liquid savings and threw it straight at sourcing some new parts and getting a mechanic to give it a once-over.
I had a plan: fix it up quick, flip it for double, use the money to finally clear that lingering credit card debt. Straightforward. I even timed the purchase of the engine parts to fall exactly on the “favorable transit” day that one source was pushing. I felt smart. I felt supported by the cosmos. I felt untouchable.
The Mid-Month Kick in the Gut: The Change
Then, May 15th hit, or maybe it was the 16th. I got the call from the shop. My mechanic, bless his heart, basically told me the engine block was totally toast. Not just a simple repair, but a full replacement. The cost instantly vaporized the profit I was counting on and then some. I was now deeper in the hole than when I started. The bold move had turned into a stupid move.
I rushed home and pulled up those horoscopes again. And this is where the change really showed up, not just in my wallet, but in the writing itself. The tone had completely shifted. It wasn’t about “bold moves” anymore. Now, it was all about “unexpected turbulence,” “reassessing existing resources,” and “finding value in the mundane.” What the hell? It felt like the universe had pulled a fast one on me. I spent a full two days just simmering in a mix of panic and utter frustration, staring at this hunk of metal that was now a financial anchor.
My Actual Strategy: Throwing Out The Forecast
My first reaction, the classic Virgo reaction, was to over-analyze the prediction change. Was I supposed to have known this was coming? Was “revisiting old methods” a clue? I had to stop. That was my first real strategic move: I closed the browser tab. The stars got me into this mess; they weren’t going to get me out.
My real strategy, my best strategy, came down to a few ugly, practical steps:
- I stopped seeing the whole car as one item. It was now a collection of parts. The flip idea was dead. The original ‘bold plan’ was trash.
- I audited the damage. What was still good? The interior was immaculate. The wheels were rare. The chassis was okay. I took a hard look at what had cost me the money—the blown engine part—and what could still bring a return.
- I pivoted to harvesting. Instead of trying to sell the whole thing, I started listing the valuable components individually online. Headlights, the console, the seats. I took pictures with my phone, wrote up sloppy descriptions, and just threw them out there. It felt like defeat, but it was fast.
- I accepted the smaller win. I wasn’t going to double my money. But if I could just break even on the parts I’d already bought and the mechanic’s initial inspection fee, I would call it a win. It was about damage control, pure and simple.
This process of physically taking it apart, listing the bits, and dealing with buyer after buyer for small amounts was brutal. It was the opposite of the glorious, big-score prediction I started with. I was covered in grease and arguing about shipping costs. But it worked. Within three weeks, I had sold enough components that I was back to square one, with the stripped shell still sitting there, ready to be towed away for scrap.
The Real Takeaway
The total profit was negligible, maybe enough for a nice takeout dinner. But the actual strategy wasn’t about the stars; it was about adaptability under pressure. I realized that the “change” in the Virgo forecast wasn’t a curse; it was a signal that the initial strategy was flawed, and I needed to get gritty and realistic. The stars might point you North, but if a mountain appears, you still have to climb it or go around it. You don’t just stand there waiting for the forecast to change back. My best strategy was simply to ditch the grand astrological dream and focus on the immediate, tangible reality, one oily part at a time. It saved my butt.
