Capricorn sun, Aquarius moon.

You run the institution you plan to reform.

Saturn rules both floors, old style: structure above, revolution below. You change systems from the inside with the patience of someone who owns the clock. Radicals underestimate you; so do conservatives. Perfect.

Togetherness with an exit is still togetherness.

An Aquarius moon refuels at one remove: the long view, the odd hobby, a room of your own inside the crowd. You come back warmer from an hour alone than from an evening of company, and the people who last understand that math.

You begin fast and forgive slowly.

You launch on the outside and keep on the inside: the world sees initiative, but your feelings sign long leases. New projects, old grudges; fresh starts, ancient loyalties.

You are not a typical Capricorn; nobody with this moon is.

The internet writes Capricorn off as a spreadsheet that learned to walk. Your Aquarius moon rewrites the chemistry: the needs underneath are narrated, argued, and footnoted. What looks like feeling less is thinking about feeling, at length, in private.

Feed the moon first: say the inner weather out loud, to one person or one page.

Unspoken it becomes static; spoken it becomes weather you can fly in. Keep one correspondent who receives the unedited forecast.