A tiredness settles into you that no blood test can find, a fog the doctor cannot quite name, and you start to wonder if you imagined it. You did not. You were born with Neptune in the sixth house, the house of the morning routine, the broom and the apron, the patient daily mending of work and the body, so your edges blur exactly where most people keep their hardest boundaries. Symptoms come and go without a clean cause. The job seeps past its hours because someone needed you and you cannot find the line where their need ends and your shift does. You are the one who stays late, who notices the colleague nobody else noticed, who pours out care like it costs nothing, until your own body sends the bill. Tend yourself with the same softness you hand to everyone in front of you. Rest before it becomes medical, not after. You can be the kind of helper who keeps closing hours, who eats lunch sitting down, who is no less devoted for going home with something left in the tank.