My name was "Robbie" from birth till seventh grade. But as my adolescent hormones began to kick in, I decided I needed a more virile stature. My name became the punchier, sleeker "Rob." But with every year that passes, I find myself heading back in the direction of "Robbie." The clever severity of my youth yearns to meld with the buoyant tenderness I've been cultivating the past decade. I want my paradoxes to harmonize -- my blithe feminine qualities to cooperate with my aggressive masculine side, my bright-eyed innocence to synergize with my restless probing. So you can call me "Robbie" if you like, or "Rob," or sometimes one and sometimes the other. Isn't it time for you, too, my fellow Cancerian, to circle back and reclaim an early part of you that got lost along the way?

Factual information and reasonable thinking alone are not sufficient to guide you through life’s labyrinthine tests. You need and deserve regular deliveries of uncanny revelation. One of your inalienable rights as a human being should therefore be to receive mysteriously useful omens on a regular basis. In this spirit, I offer you the free weekly horoscopes you read here. If you ever want more, and think it's worth paying for, try my EXPANDED AUDIO HOROSCOPES or daily text message 'scopes.

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SACRED ADVERTISEMENT
To the ancient Chinese, pigs were sacred because they could eat anything and turn it into energy. The creatures were regarded as masters of transmutation. Nothing, not even garbage, was unusable to them. The Chinese aspired to be like pigs in the sense of being able to learn from and derive benefit from every experience, not just the tidy, tasteful ones.

Borrowing this strategy, name two garbage-like experiences that you could turn into fuel for your growing urge to be a pronoiac co-conspirator.
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The preceding oracle comes from my book, PRONOIA Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings.