Cranky Large Medium reading, 5 April

Go away.

Why will you not go? Is it something I didn't say? Did I somehow offer the impression that was gravely desirous of your company? If so, I apologize. That was not my intent. Indeed, it is mostly my aim to be left alone to wallow in my own self-pity in the hope that life will suddenly look better. Oh, you hope the same, do you? Well, then, why would you come to me? Ah. Right. You seek a reading. And, if I give you one promptly, you will leave just as promptly? I could like this plan. So, here you are:

You have been endowed with a surplus of muscle, especially between the ears. It adds to your chutzpah. Some people may find that attractive, and you could easily develop a cult following. Your home life is important to you, but petty things become insurmountable problems in your eyes. You have become a dabbler, a dilettante at things which should be important, instead.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. Maybe you should take this a little more seriously. Or, maybe you could get some perspective, as in -- hey, it's just your life. It could be much worse. You could have already joined the ranks of people like these, who, on this date in history, were exported to flat file: Eutychius, General Douglas MacArthur, Chiang Kai-shek, Abe Fortas, Joseph Louis François Bertrand, Charles Collett, Hermann Joseph Muller, Alfred Henry Sturtevant, Heiner Zieschang, Vincent Ferrer, Adam Loftus, Samuel Wesley, Edward Young, Allen Ginsberg, Saul Bellow, Jean Jouvenet, Dale Messick, Alonso Lobo, Bob Hite, Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley, Gene Pitney, Mark Leslie Norton aka Mark St. John, Brian Donlevy, Charlton Heston, Isabel Jewell, Molly Picon, Debralee Scott, Lee Petty, Georges Danton, Camille Desmoulins, Sir Nigel Gresley, Karl Otto Koch, Huldreich Georg Früh, Howard Hughes, John Tower, Sonny Carter, Sam Walton,

and Danny Rapp.

Rock and Roll may be here to stay, but the rest of us aren't.
Happy birthday, anyway.