I saw that headline, $ * space * space * space *: space * space *? $ and something in me just snapped. I’m a Virgo, right? And I’ve always said this horoscope stuff is just generic, vague garbage. But then you see a title that promises a specific, quantifiable best day, and I couldn’t just let it slide. I had to run a full-scale, personal, utterly unscientific experiment. I decided I was going to track my entire damn week to see if I could validate this clickbait or completely bust it. This was my practice, my record, from start to finish. I wanted to know if I could pinpoint that best day.
I started Sunday night. I grabbed the thickest marker I could find and a stack of sticky notes. I labeled seven notes with the days of the week, and then I invented a scoring system. From -5 (a total, catastrophic dumpster fire day) to +5 (everything going right, finding a hundred dollars on the street kind of day). I intended to document three specific categories of “luck” every evening before bed:
- Random Wins: Did I get the last parking spot? Did the server I was watching hold steady? Did I score a cheap coffee?
- Random Losses: Did I spill coffee? Did I hit every red light? Did I get a flat tire?
- Overall Vibe: My general mental state and how many times I wanted to yell at my computer.
The Practice: The Day-by-Day Grind
I pulled up the forecast. Monday was hyped as a “Financial Abundance Day.” I woke up with a decent vibe, ready to make some money. I opened my inbox. My biggest client, the one that pays half the rent, sent me a long-winded email saying they were pausing all contracts for a month. Great. I spent the next six hours hunting for any kind of new gig. I finished the day tossing a -3 on the sticky note. Abundance? More like drought.
Tuesday’s forecast was vague—something about “Self-Reflection.” I ignored that noise. I ran a bunch of errands and finally got around to calling that one utility company I had been avoiding. I was bracing for a fight. Instead, the agent found a massive billing error, and they credited me almost $200. I was shocked. Later that evening, I finished my biggest side project—the one I was dreading—in two hours flat. That earned a solid +4. No reflection needed.
The hallowed “Best Day” for a Virgo this week was supposed to be Thursday. The forecast sang about “Cosmic Alignment” and “Interpersonal Harmony.” I walked into Thursday ready. I prepared all morning. By 10 AM, I had spilled an entire glass of water directly onto my keyboard, frying the whole thing. I had a massive deadline, and I had to borrow my kid’s crummy old laptop, which ran like a snail. I missed the deadline. I had a stupid argument with a coworker about a coffee filter. I didn’t feel very harmonious. I slammed the sticky note on the wall: -5. Total, undeniable disaster.
The Discovery: It’s All a Messy Hotchpotch
The whole tracking process showed me one thing: the specific forecast was utterly useless. The best day of the week, by far, turned out to be Saturday. The forecast mentioned nothing remarkable about it. I slept in. I ate pizza for breakfast. A buddy called me out of the blue with an insane business idea that sounded legit. I felt great. No cosmic alignment, just a good Saturday. I gave it a +5 because it was the day I found some damn peace.
So, the specific prediction failed completely. My best day wasn’t the one they said. It was just a random day where things worked. This whole exercise felt pointless, but here’s the thing—it wasn’t.
Why I Bothered With This Stupid Tracking Log
Why do I obsess over timing and luck? This whole mess dates back to a major screw-up a few years ago. I was working at this huge tech firm, totally on the up and up. I had a contract for a huge new project—the kind of project that gets you noticed and vaults you to the next level. I had shaken hands. The paperwork was sitting on my boss’s desk.
I had told my fiancée—now my wife—that we were finally buying that small house we wanted. I needed that contract signed to get the mortgage approval. It was all about the timing. My boss, that idiot, kept delaying the signing. He said he needed to triple-check some minor clause. I should have just stolen the papers and signed them myself.
I waited one more week. That week, a competitor dropped a massive lawsuit on us, and the company froze all non-essential spending, including my project contract. My boss acted like he didn’t know I was relying on that. He just said it was “bad luck.”
I lost the project, we lost the house, and I spent the next two months arguing with bankers. I ended up quitting because I couldn’t stand the sight of that snake. That experience taught me that timing—good or bad—is the thing that dictates your life. It made me hyper-aware of when I should make a move and when I should wait. So, when I see a headline promising to tell me the best day, I have to check it. I have to know if I can steal back some control from “luck.”
The result? The Virgo forecast was trash. My best day was the one I made happen, not the one a magazine predicted. This whole logging process was the best thing I did this week because it forced me to look at the facts. Screw the stars. The best day is when you decide to win.
