I don't list my astrological sign either since it has never even been close to describing me or my life. It used to bother me; my personal expectations were geared toward what the horoscope said about me. It was always wrong, which made me feel like a putz. I finally decided to stop looking at my horoscope since it was bringing me down. I still sneak a peek at it once in a while, and it's still consistently wrong.
When I was a child, I tried to believe in angels. Hansel and Gretel had angels watch over them while they slept. But, hard as I tried, I could never sense anybody watching over me.
I could have used some angels back in 1951. We had moved to an old farm house way out in the boonies for the summer. The house and abandoned out-buildings were at the end of a long dirt drive and surrounded by a dense grove. It was really primitive--there was electricity but no plumbing.
On Saturday nights, my parents, three siblings and I went into the nearest little town for shopping. While Mom and Dad got groceries and stuff, we would go to a movie. Movies were the ultimate entertainment and I loved them all. When I saw a preview for movie called, The Thing, I begged my mom to let me go to see it. I knew it was a monster movie but thought in my naive 10-year-old mind that it would be a typical "Scooby Doo-type" plot. I was not prepared for the monster to be a "real" alien creature.
I was traumatized by that movie. I spent the entire summer afraid to be alone. I slept flat on my back with the covers pulled up to my chin in terror that the alien's severed hand would come and grab me. I retain a sickening memory of that house and even occasionally dream about it.
I still can't help but wonder why that alien hand was more real to me than the angels.(Howard Hawk's The Thing from Another World is still available, but the 1982 remake of John Carpenter's The Thing starring Kurt Russell is much better.)