You start laying out a whole system, and a spark lands on your own scaffolding before the roof is on. Jupiter squares Uranus, the vision that wants to span sawing against the jolt that wants to overturn. Settle in and you go restless. Erupt and you lose what you had built. You paid in projects abandoned at the halfway mark because something newer lit you up, in years of not finishing what was worth finishing. The friction taught you where to aim the spark: at the walls already gone dead, never the ones still bearing load. What you carry now is the discipline of knowing when to change and when to hold the form.