ARIES (March 21-April 19): I dreamed you were in a cake store. Every delicious kind of cake you could imagine was there: carrot cake, strawberry cheesecake, gooey butter cake, rich chocolate cake with four layers of cherries and whipped cream, birthday cakes that must have been baked in paradise. Sadly, there was a problem: You weren't allowed to buy anything, even though you had enough money. A big sign on the wall said, simply, "Absolutely no cakes available for Aries." What do you think my dream means? More importantly, what are you going to do about the situation? I suggest that in my next dream, you get a friend to buy a cake for you. Either that, or go to a different cake store. One way or another, the astrological omens say it's high time for you get the cake you want.
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Fill in the blanks, Taurus. Don't let the blanks remain vacant and barren any longer. Don't allow them to keep screaming at you with their accusatory silence. Just fill in the freaking blanks with whatever you've got to fill them with - with your best guesses, with borrowed mojo, with any miscellaneous material you have at hand. I realize you may be tempted to wait around for a supposedly more ideal moment. But I'm here to tell you that this is as ideal as it gets. So please express the hell out of yourself in the empty spaces, my dear; create yourself anew in the void - however improvisational or inexact it might feel.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20): "Do you know how to resolve an unresolvable paradox?" asked a Facebook friend named Pi. He answered his own question: "You figure out the 'error' in the initial premise or assumption." And that's my prescription for you this week, Gemini. Do not be tempted to bang your head against the wall so as to shake loose a non-existent answer to the wrong question. Instead, stop yourself in the middle of your angst and think: "What would be a more productive way to formulate the riddle I need to untangle?"
CANCER (June 21-July 22): An innovative job-seeker named Travis Broyles put an ad on Craigslist in Atlanta. Among the tasks he said he would perform for money were the following: draw your face on a balloon; email you a list of 250 things he likes about you; build you a cardboard car and make vroom-vroom sounds while you drive it; change his political leanings; rename your Pokemon; or provide you with star treatment for a month, hiding in the bushes like a paparazzi and taking candid photos of you. I recommend that you come up with your own version of a list like this, Cancerian. It will help stimulate your imagination about what gifts you have to offer the world, which is exactly what the astrological omens are suggesting.