Virgo

Virgo. Sit down, little saint. Don’t wipe the table first — I know, I saw you reach. Just sit. It’s Monday and you’ve already got the spreadsheet open in your head, three windows deep, color-coded by panic. Madonn’. Close it. Pour the coffee. Look at the actual rectangle of light on the wall for thirty seconds before you open the laptop. Today the win is praise first. Whoever you live with, work with, love — find one true thing to compliment before you correct anything. Build the muscle. Saint Therese the Little Flower rides with you on Mondays; she did the dishes and called it sacred and so do you, sweet thing. The list will wait. The week is young. Go gently, my creature. I love you. I’m not lying about this one.