Compendium  Misty Monthlies

In an early winter snowstorm, you find yourself trapped in deep, deep snow at your friend’s ‘cottage’ (three-storey mansion) in the deep, deep Quebec countryside. After a week of confinement drives you two into ever wilder games of hide-and-seek, you manage to break into the secret attic, chuckling to yourself about never being found again. Alas, you are all too right – you’re not the only one in there. The World’s Most Undercover Squatter has been living there for years, and is simply not willing to be found out. Your life is a small sacrifice to pay for their 13th year of glory.

This week you realise that you have approximately zero transferrable skills, except for the best one of all – bullshitting. Capitalizing on this to a new extreme, you publish a book of ‘facts’ which are sopointless that they are impossible to disprove. For example: “No. 113 – Every time a badger is born, somebody sneezes.”

In December, Uranus enters you with powerful force (I’m not even making this up, it’s a real cosmological prediction). Now is the time for a revolution, so if you’ve ever been inspired by that poster of Che Guavara in pretty much every dorm building, now’s the time to get your starry beret on.

This month, your strongest element will be fire. I foresee merriment and festivities, and at the centre a ring, a ring of fire…this holds great power over you, but chance may be on your side ­— stay vigilant, keep your wits about you in games of cards, and beware of he who brings the Bacardi.

As Saturn finishes its cruise through Sagittarius (about time), you’ll be extra agitated and irritating to sit next to for a sustained period of time. Try to channel your energy into something more productive than shifting from cheek to cheek and jiggling your leg in the library. Oh, and it’s also likely you have one of those undetected twins living inside your ribs. Nothing to worry about, just remember you’ve always got company ­— plus it totally validates snacking for two.

You’ve always been a sweaty one. This month, encased in many winter layers and bombarded by blasts of hot air inside the metro, you begin to sweat actual beads. Embroidery beads. They roll down your stunned face and onto the rails in such a large quantity that they almost derail an arriving train, while all the other passengers slip and slide around the platform. Your anatomical function is now regarded as a public safety hazard, and you are forced off the public transit system for life, traversing Montreal on foot like a true pioneer for the rest of the winter.

Everyone presumes that if aliens invade the planet, it’ll be us humans fighting them off – you know better. It’s the squirrels who will defend the earth through this week’s extraterrestrial invasion. As the only human capable of seeing these events unfold, it’s your duty to bolster our furry friends’ efforts, hurling peanuts and pep talk into the trees. Don’t let anyone stop you, you absolute hero.

You have this constant feeling that doors are closing in your life, but this week is worse than usual — they’re slamming. I mean, they actually are. You left the upstairs windows open, you dozy muppet. Now stop doing ‘life-séance’ wanderings in the corridors and remember that central heating is a precious household resource.

This is a month which will excite the creatives and exhaust the non-creatives. As you belong to the former category, you experience a wave of inspiration fuelled by the political madness going down. Utilising nature’s resources, you craft an enormous snowman replica of Donald Trump, and invite the public to dissolve it with their urine. You may have discovered the most effective method of bringing down corrupt world systems.

Things are getting heavy towards the end of the semester, and you may be tempted to bury your head in physical sand. Please don’t. Try watching a few episodes of Planet Earth and being grateful that you don’t have to dive off a cliff every day just to eat breakfast, or traverse deathly, snake-covered plains just to reach your mum.

It’s your special zodiac time, you fiery type. This week you’ll be sensing some kind of delusional overconfidence, particularly if you’re birthday is between December 2, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, or the 21. You risk voicing your opinion that you are the scorpion boss/king/queen out loud. Just be tactful, the plebeian masses don’t like to be reminded of their inferiority.

This month, after a few too many drags on a special cigarette, perhaps, you fully understand that you are not very important in the grand scheme of the world, yet you are the only life you will ever know. You stretch out into the light, soft, existential plains of your subconscious and weep into a cream coloured scatter cushion.