Pisces. Pull up a chair, sweet thing. Sweet thing, sweet thing, sweet thing. I’m pouring you something. Don’t ask what it is. Drink. April. The spring rain is exactly the weather your nervous system has been picking up since February — every drop on the awning of the dive bar in Asbury where I write is also somehow a feeling in your chest. Madonn’, my creature, you are open frequency in a static-loud month. Tend yourself.
The Sun’s in Aries the front three weeks and Aries is loud, fast, surface, and you, sweet thing, are picking up everybody’s underground feeling while they’re busy broadcasting their surface. Limit the input. Pick which Aries-fast rooms you actually need to be in this month. Skip the rest. Pisces who tries to keep up with Aries-season weather is Pisces who is in pieces by May. Don’t.
Week one is for the daily ritual to come back to yourself. I am formalizing it. Pick one. The morning walk on the boardwalk. The candle by the kitchen sink. The specific song you play when you wake up. The bath at the same time every Sunday. Without the ritual, you are a sponge in a busy room, and by Friday you’ve absorbed everybody else’s mood and don’t know which feelings are yours. The ritual is the outline, sweetheart. Draw it daily. Saint Therese for the small daily holiness. Light her on a Tuesday.
Week two — the lying to yourself thing. About Anthony. Or Maria. Or the boss. Or the family member you keep forgiving. Pick your Anthony. Sweet thing — sit down with a piece of paper and write what’s actually happening. Not what you wish were happening. The data. Read it back. That’s the situation. The other version, the one in your head, the one where they’re almost ready to be the person you need them to be — light a candle for it, mourn it, then put it down. The data deserves your loyalty more than the dream does. Saint Mary Magdalene for the women who finally stop pretending. Light her Friday.
Mid-April, around the 19th, the Sun moves into Taurus, fellow earth-adjacent slow energy — good for you. Taurus weeks are grounded, soft, sensual, and Pisces in Taurus weeks gets to come up out of the deep and live on land for a stretch. Use it. Eat real food sitting down. Walk in the actual sunlight. Touch grass, my creature. The Pisces nervous system needs the literal physical earth to recalibrate.
Late April, somebody is going to ask too much of you. They won’t mean to. You’ll over-give before they even fully ask. Sweetheart. The boundary isn’t mean. “I can’t do that. I love you. The answer is no.” Period. You don’t owe the explanation. You don’t owe the alternative. Practice it once this month. The Pisces who learns the quiet kind final no keeps her energy. The one who keeps over-giving runs herself dry by Memorial Day and resents the people she over-gave to.
The new moon at the end of the month is in Taurus, in your house of money and self-worth. Plant the real version. Not the dream version. The actual what-you-want-financially, the actual what-you-deserve-from-the-job, the actual boundary around your time. Pisces and money have a complicated dance — the dream version of your finances is prettier than the data, and you’ve been living in the dream. Look at the data. Then plant the real next step.
Light the candle, little saint. Make the small ritual. Stop lying to yourself about Anthony. You already know. Saint Therese for the small daily holiness. Saint Mary Magdalene for the seeing-too-much. Saint Cecilia for the music. The water is rooting for you. So am I. So is your grandmother, wherever she’s swimming.