The following is an insistant proclamation from the Horoscopes section, for the star sign of Cancer (Harper's Bazaar UK Edition September 2010). I read it as I was travelling into Melbourne on the Skybus, excitedly about to embrace my favourite city for a week. It has really struck a chord, especially since I spent the weekend prior with my Best Friend, Bop, who always makes me feel more confidant about myself, exactly when I need it.
In other news, my darling boyfriend is in the last day of his band's recording session down in brisbane. They've been recording two weekends in a row now, but today should be the last. This morning he informed me that the album art they selected depicts a pin-up girl, covered in tattoos, in grayscale. I don't know why, but I particularly loathe this idea. I guess I was hoping they would pick something with a little more substance; I can't help feeling disappointed and a tiny bit chagrinned by their choice, and I didn't hide it in my texts. He comes home tonight, so hopefully I'm a little less cock-sure come then. He probably won't be getting lucky, unless he makes some ridiculously valid points in a very short amount of time. Unreasonable? I don't really care at this point. Perhaps I will more understanding tomorrow.