I don’t care that my obsession looks pathological. Therapists don’t know shit anyway. I went to one only because I was making a lot of money and therapy felt like an indulgence I deserved. I’m not mentally ill. I’m just alive. And being alive mostly involves pain and suffering and disappointment, and the only thing that makes it tolerable is a distraction from all that. And Beau is that glorious distraction.

This morning I am behind on my readings, even though I only have a few, and I haven’t pitched any editors in weeks.

Normally October is my season. I eat candy corn and write articles like “The Signs as Halloween Costumes” or “The Signs as Horror Movies,” or make a BuzzFeed quiz called “We Can Predict Your Zodiac Sign Based on Your Favorite Halloween Candy.” But I’m not feeling it this year. Everyone knows astrology is on the outs. I’m making less and less money every month. Exalted is dropping followers like flies. I had 780k for a while. Then it was 620k. Now I’m lingering around 500k.

Also, there was that minor scandal. It wasn’t a big deal. My Instagram Explore page is always filled with astrology memes—usually shitty ones—and I occasionally scroll for inspiration. A few months prior I’d found this meme from an astrology account with only a few hundred followers. I took a screenshot and posted it to Exalted. This isn’t illegal; it’s fair use. But it’s frowned upon. The woman who ran the account freaked out and wrote a goddamn think piece on Medium about having her “art stolen.” The gall! It was a meme! And it wasn’t even that good. But the whole thing fueled my haters and created new haters.

The hate emails have mostly stopped, but my bank account is dwindling. I haven’t exactly looked at it. But as a Scorpio stellium, I don’t need to look. I don’t need concrete evidence to know what’s happening; I can feel it. I also know I haven’t paid rent this month, or the last month, and maybe not even the month before that. My landlord is kind of senile, so I’m not convinced she notices. I’m planning on not paying until she says something. But eventually she will say something, and I don’t want to move back to Riverside, my hometown, which is like Palm Springs but a thousand times more depressing.

I grew up wanting to be a star. My parents—both teachers— didn’t get it. I was discovered on my elementary school playground, which in retrospect seems criminal. But I’d always drawn attention, with my husky eyes and jet-black hair and my Scorpio stellium. Scorpios are famously magnetic. Not a warm magnetic, like Leos, but we have something that keeps people intrigued and a little afraid.