There is something in the nature of the neurotic that loves things such as horoscopes and palm readings and the like. Part of this fascination has to do with the neurotic's self-absorption, to be sure, but part is also due to the convient idea that our fates may not be entirely under our own control. We are perfectly willing to accept any good fortune that comes along as a product of our own design, but it is handy to be able to blame bad luck on some grand and sinister force.
The thing is, it's hard to tell which astrologer or which palm reader to believe. You pick up three daily papers and you get three different horoscopes, each one vaguer than the last. You wonder where the "unexpected journey" will take you and which "co-worker" will need your "advice." Similarly, when someone who is trying to pick you pick you up in a bar reads your palm you don't know whether to laugh or cry or call a cab.