Cancern Horrorscope

Your day begins with the gentle tremor of a notification: is it a friendly hello, or a summons from an eldritch bureaucracy? Cancern, if you choose to ignore it and remain swaddled in your quilts, the universe will simply escalate its efforts with louder pings and possibly a carrier pigeon of questionable origin. Your emotional antennae will twitch at every unexpected sound, but courage, dear crustacean—the coffee maker is not plotting your demise (yet).

Midday brings a shimmering wave of existential insight. Someone may ask you to "come out of your shell," clearly underestimating the structural integrity of your duvet fortress. Should you venture forth, you’ll notice that the outside world smells faintly of printer ink and unresolved feelings. It’s not you; it’s absolutely everyone else (except Karen from HR—she's clearly a lizard).

This evening, the stars align to present you with an unusual opportunity: a chance to say exactly what you mean, only for it to be spectacularly misinterpreted. Consider it performance art. Return to your blankets and contemplate the subtle differences between vulnerability and exposure, possibly while Googling “can one survive on comfort food alone?”