Apparently my Saturday Horrorscope was a day off with their prediction

"Virgo dear, make a list of all your dreams. On Thursday, some of it will begin to come true."

That is more or less a translation of my horoscope as it appeared in last Saturday's Afrikaans daily.

I remember that one, because the astrologist doesn't always address me that fondly. In fact, I've long since suspected that she (he?) has it in for Virgos...

("You, Virgo, aren't a perfectionist. You are merely an endlessly lazy, good-for-nothing procrastinator who then conveniently blames never accomplishing anything on a fear of being imperfect." That was an almost-but-not-even-really-nearly verbatim quote of a previous horoscope. See what I mean though?)

But Saturday's horoscope also stuck in my memory, because it's not often that the horoscope gets that specific and mention actual days. Usually it is far more vague, committing only to "your fortune should change around the middle of a month. Not a particular month. Just any old month in any old (or new) year."

Which I've never taken seriously, because, well, I've never HAD a fortune!! (Plus, even if I did have one? It never says whether it will change for better or for worse, the cowards!)

Now, before all of you, my esteemed and highly intellectual imaginary readers, scoff at me for believing in such claptrap, let me assure you that, of course I don't believe in these things! I merely read it because it happens to appear near the crossword puzzles - which I always attempt in my endless pursuit towards intellectual stimulation. (So what if it's a few pages removed from the actual crossword puzzles? I did say NEAR. And that is SUCH a relative concept, isn't it?)

Anyway, so I've been rather looking forward to tomorrow. In an extremely skeptical manner, of course, but still. I figured that even if all of it ended up being hogwash, my time of fervent hoping mild curiosity would not all have been for naught since Thursday is, after all, just a day away from the weekend. Which would immediately give me something else to look forward to.

(Even if I do still spend all of my weekends alone. By myself. Solitary.)

When I woke up today, there was no indication that this would be a supremely remarkable day.

I staggered to the kitchen, as always, blindly following the intoxicating scent of coffee.

Then, once I had been sufficiently caffeinated (which really, is never), I begun researching and writing, as always. (No need for all of you to know that I procrastinate and get distracted with blog-reading for hours and hours first!)

I posted a story to this community blog site I also write for.

And carried on with my day.

Later, I went to this site. I sometimes trawl it for additional distraction research.

And thought I didn't have nearly enough coffee in me and that I was surely hallucinating when I saw this: 

Words. Written by me. (Complete with an annoying grammar mistake which I had picked up and fixed in my actual post... but apparently that was not before some delusional creature benevolent soul had deemed it worthy of appearing on freaking MSN SOUTH AFRICA!!)

AND THEN... JUST WHEN I THOUGHT (okaysorryI'llstopscreamingnow) that my day couldn't POSSIBLY get any better, I received an e-mail with this subject:

YOU ARE A WINNER!

Which I of course immediately dismissed as spam.

Until I saw the reputable name of the sender. On whose blog I had entered a giveaway contest just yesterday, with absolutely no hope of actually winning!

Thank you so much, all of you lovelies at the oh-so-chic Elle Decoration SA blog! Your superb writing, stunning photography and impeccable sense of style are what mere mortals like me can only HOPE to aspire to! (Not to abuse the generosity you are already showing me? But would you accept unsolicited writing from a rather deranged blogger who just so happens to be a freelance writer? One who has always dreamed of writing for any member of the Elle family?) And thank you Putuymayo World Music! I've been a genuine fan of the label for a long time. In fact, during my years in reversed-exile, your African compilations were a constant companion, a soothing balm for my heart-ache and homesickness. And merci beaucoup to Mme Françoise Hardy for having a son, whom I correctly identified in order to win! I think Thomas Dutronc has just become my favourite name. Ever. In fact, since I loathe and despise my own so much (and the poor dears at Elle were subjected to it, as I had to identify myself when I entered the contest), I think I might change my name to Thomas. Non?

Okay, maybe not.  

And thank you, my horrorscope, for once getting it almost right!