Capricorn — Wednesday 8 July 2026

That slight wince when the office kitchen smells of someone else's reheated fish, and you realise you've been standing there cataloguing everything wrong with it for forty-five seconds? That's the face. That's the one you'll make at least twice today, and it won't always be about fish. *Saturn* is square the *Sun* right now, which for Capricorn translates as: everything you put in your mouth on a Wednesday will feel like a moral position. The sad desk lunch you've been convincing yourself is discipline. The biscuit you took from the tin with the energy of a war criminal. You're not hungry, particularly. You're just measuring yourself against some internal standard you've never actually written down, and food keeps being the ruler. What are you really rationing?