The boat doesn't ask if you're ready. It just waits until you step in.

"Pyramid Song," Radiohead, 2001. The song is a man stepping into a black-eyed boat on a river, accompanied by everyone he has ever loved. There was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt. Thom Yorke sings it as if he's already gone — already past the part where any of this could be argued with — and the piano underneath drifts through an asymmetric meter that nobody can quite count, which is the song's whole feeling: time keeping itself, but no longer for you.

That's you this week, Aquarius. Pluto is parked in your sign, doing the long, slow, structural rearrangement it's been doing for two years — you're the one feeling it most. Seven planets are in supportive aspect: Mars, Saturn, Neptune, the Moon, Venus, Uranus from across the room, all of them with you. But the Sun and Mercury are squaring you from Taurus — someone external is asking the practical question you don't yet feel like answering.

Monday is for solitude even if the day is full. Wednesday a conversation feels heavier than it should — it's not about what they're saying. Friday the inner shift is real; trust the new instinct. Saturday is for water and silence. Sunday Mercury crosses into Gemini and you find a way to say the thing that's been wordless for weeks.