I’ve been living a lie.

For 22 years, I’ve happily adhered to the path set forth by the ancient astrologers and their infinite wisdom of the Zodiac.

Thanks to the astrological signs, which are assigned by birth date, I’ve known exactly what type of person I am, who I am compatible with and why I am prone to behaving as I do.

All of this made for a splendidly convenient way to combat my indecisive tendencies. Living life was easier when I could start each day by simply reading my horoscope to brace myself for what was to come.

But last Thursday, some Astro-jerks from the Minnesota Planetarium Society had to go and ruin the fun for everybody. By now I’m sure you’ve heard.

Apparently, due to 2,000 years of the moon’s gravitational pull on the Earth and some other complex, scientific happenstance, the stars realigned and shuffled the Babylonians’ sign assignments.

In an instant, I went from being a practical, hard-working Capricorn to a blindly optimistic, tactless Sagittarius.

The proverbial rug had been pulled from underneath me. I became an aimless ship coasting in uncharted waters, crewed by a bunch of drunken sailors. And who could blame them for guzzling the sauce? They too were probably thrown into disarray when they caught wind of the news.

Introducing Ophiuchus

The biggest revelation was the addition of a 13th sign, Ophiuchus. How are we to understand the traits and nuances of this new sign if we can’t even pronounce it? OPP-I-KUS? OFF-UH-CHUS? UFF-I-CUSS? Who is to say what’s what?

Those unfortunate enough to be burdened with this new, mysterious sign — those born between Nov. 29 and Dec. 17 — are now left without an identity. They are a faceless people left to toil in uncertainty.

The plight of the Ophiuchusians to forge a new selfdom will provide a fascinating case study for the droves of anthropologists in search of actual work to do.

Little is known about the inherent demeanor of these people, though I’ve read they are generally trustworthy and talented. Maybe a little too talented. Like obnoxiously talented. It’s like, “Okay, Oph, we get it. You’re really good with a Rubik’s Cube.”

Adding a 13th sign just throws the whole thing off. It’s like a last-minute addition to a party planned for 12. Everyone gets a little less elbow room at the dinner table as they try not to sneer at the guy who’s responsible.

The number 13 is just unsettling. Who the hell wants a baker’s dozen anyway? Surely not the 12 Apostles or the 12 Angry Men. Try forcing another year of grade school on a high school senior. See how that goes over.

George Clooney learned the hard way when he made “Ocean’s Thirteen.” Sometimes you’ve just gotta know when to throw in the towel.

The Ophiuchus constellation depicts a man wrestling with a serpent, which will automatically draw the ire of the people who got stuck with the Cancer sign. In terms of badassery, a snake wrestler trumps just about everything.

Refuting refuting reports

Within hours of the controversial claims by the moony-Minnesotans, a war was raging between astrologists and their sworn enemies — real scientists.

The mudslinging began when renowned star-gazer Stella McStarlet wrote a scathing letter to the editor to the aptly named Minnesota Star Tribune, which first broke the news.

“This nonsense is 2,000 years old,” McStarlet wrote. “You can’t rewrite history and throw millions of avid horoscope readers’ lives into chaos.”

In reply, historians turned to the ancient writings of Aristotle for his limitless wisdom. They were discouraged, however, when translators unveiled a single line of theorizing from the famous bearded sage: “Hell if I know!”

The greatest effects of this constellation conundrum were seen on social networking sites where the Internet played host to an endless stream of panic-stricken Tweets and status updates.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” people cried. Thousands of people donning cliché Zodiac tattoos instantly became even more foolish-looking when their cherished emblem migrated over to a new group of unsuspecting simpletons.

More interesting is the necessary reinterpretation of the classic pickup line, “Hey good looking, what’s your sign?” Answering the question is no longer as simple as backing away slowly from the inquisitive creeper. The duality of the answer as you contemplate your signs, old and new, will have you staring blankly into space.

And what about all of those people who were banking on astrological compatibility when they chose their spouse? Do the changes constitute grounds for divorce?

Also, feel free to cite an acute identity crisis as your all-purpose excuse for misbehavior and general laziness.

A whole new approach

So where do I go from here? My fellow sea goats-turned-archers and I must learn to embrace our newly-adopted personality traits. Sixty seconds of Internet research suggested that I should turn my romantic sights to Taureans and bid farewell to the Aries contingent.

This sudden shift in mindset has admittedly been difficult to accept.

Upon hearing the news, I immediately began questioning the entirety of my life, wondering what could (or should) have been had I always lived by the Sagittarian code.

So I did what any red-blooded American man would do: I got out my telescope and contemplated the stars, hoping to find solace in the vast, infinite abyss of the skies.

But I found no answers.

You folks are on your own.