Notes from the Dustbin of the Zodiac

I’m a Pisces. There are twelve signs of the Zodiac, so you have an 11-1 chance of escaping being born under Pisces. I am one of the 1 in 12 people who got stuck.

Being a Pisces isn’t easy. Our sign has been described as “the dustbin of the Zodiac.” In other words, the other signs all got together and tossed some of their own characteristics into a big trash basket, shook them until they were all mixed up, threw them into Pisces and wondered why 1 out of 12 people turned out weird.

Pisces is the twelfth sign of the Zodiac, which means always being last. This is good if you want to find your daily laugh … er, horoscope … fast, but it’s not the best thing for your self-esteem. It’s like being the kid who always gets picked last when they’re choosing sides for a game, or being a tall kid who always has to stand in the last row for class pictures, with no chance to look cute.

After looking at all kinds of lists of famous Pisceans, I have come to the conclusion that the following careers are the only ones suited to us:

Actor
Artist
Father of Some Country
Fiction Writer
Mobster
Musician
Opera Singer
Playwright
Serial Killer

In other words, we can either choose a path in life that is statistically likely to lead to penniless failure or one that will probably lead to an untimely death via hit man or lethal injection. Even a father of a country doesn’t have an easy time, what with all those revolutions and stuff and some fanatic assassin dying to send you to another world where you won’t get people so worked up. It’s pretty discouraging, when you think about it.

On the plus side, we’re really nice people, if you don’t count the mobsters and serial killers. Even the bloodthirsty killers among us can be nice when they want to be. Piscean serial killer John Wayne Gacy entertained children in hospitals with his clown act. He probably scared some of the kids more than he made them laugh, but you have to give him credit for trying.

We’re supposed to be impractical dreamers whose bank accounts aren’t worth the dime that we still have in them. I have to confess that there is some truth in this. Money and I are not attracted to each other. It always tries to escape from me as fast as possible. I figure if it’s that miserable I should let it go and get a flat screen TV instead.

I worked for six years to get a Master of Arts in Music. I spent many decades as an opera singer, with moderate success. I am now trying to be a writer. We Pisceans are sensitive people who have a really, really hard time with rejection. So we choose careers where we are likely to get rejected by everyone before someone recognizes us for the geniuses we are and hires us or publishes our work.

Can you figure us out? If you can, would you mind letting me know what you find out. I’ve been trying to figure myself out all my life, while wondering why other people have a hard time understanding me, too.

Don’t tell me too much, though. I’d like to retain some mystery. It’s fun.