Everything will change over the next few months. It usually does around this time of year. That, and it says so in these entrails.
Use this as an excuse to change your life in small, unexpected ways, and grin like a moon loon in the face of ever-present adversity. Tell someone how you really feel about them, unless they are much bigger than you and are not afraid to use violence to represent their feelings.

Don’t go cleaning anyone’s pond this summer, just because you feel sorry for them or want to get into their pants. There are much easier ways to achieve the latter, such as alcohol, cash money or wit and charm.
If you possess none of these, then there’s not much I can do for you.

The holiday period for you should be spent planting, seeding, growing and nurturing. Just don’t nurture people. People are not plants. People are not pigeons either. You’d do well to remember that later this year when a homeless beard-hunter pitches you an idea for a TV show that is so far out that he needs glove puppets and a turnip to properly describe it.

Geometrically speaking, the next few months will be quiet and contemplative for you, as you spend most of your time sat aloft a metaphorical hilltop watching the be-shitted masses below argue and fight over who has the shortest attention span.
Breathe deep, friends, for change is coming.

For you, the concept of ‘trends’ will implode outwardly this summer as you find yourself out of the loop for the first time in ages, and are unable to gauge what is shit and what is not, even in the simplest aspects of everyday life. It’s probably started already.
Just look around you: is that toaster shit, or what? What the fuck is on that guys head? You paid money for that?!?
Welcome to confusion central.

Avoid all microphones this summer, as you’ll only embarrass yourself, or worse have a near death experience with no profound repercussions for either yourself or the universe as a single cosmic entity bathed in its own radiant glory, refracted upon a billion bright stars, covering the dense night-time of space beyond which we only exist in the sceptred mind of an abstracted melodious infinite.