One of these days I'm going to write a book called How My Youth Was Ruined by Neptune Transiting My First House. It's going to require the naming of a new genre, maybe something like Horrific Biographical Real Fantasy. You will repeatedly gasp and say, "No way!" as you turn the pages hungry for the next beautiful day and dreading the day after that when the illusion of goodness is shattered. Neptune is, in my experience, a total jackass. They try to give him credit saying that he forces us into ourselves to transform and once he finally moves on we emerge like phoenixes, beautiful and rare and breathing fire. And when that day comes, let me tell you, I'm going to burn down the freaking house.
It's the dark of the Moon and we're all supposed to be napping like babies so that we can be fresh and rested and reborn when the Moon is new. Until then it's moody, wacky, crappy.