It’s Not a Monday But Fuck It

posted in: Manic Mondays | 1

unnamed I am tore up from the floor up, Charmers.  I feel like it’s been a constant stream of go!  go!  go! since the NYC Pagan Pride Day.  My Tiny Charges have been getting bigger and their naps have grown shorter, making writing a challenge.

Jow and I just got back from the Caribbean and we had a blissful first week back with the memory of cream rum drinks, endless afternoon teas, cake flour like sand, warm azure blue ocean and long meandering talks about the books we are reading and potential blog posts.

It soon became clear by the primal howling in my head that my previous work schedule was not going to work.  So I’ve taken back Mondays and I’m thinking about other changes we can implement.  Last weekend was crazy with an Iron Woman shift on Friday (sounds impressive here, but I’d just be called “Mom” if I were not a paid professional) and then a super crazy Trenton Punk Rock Flea Market on Sunday and . . .I’ve just been going home and crashing like the least cool punk ever.

Jow and I are supposed to be eating at the table like civilized animals and we’re supposed to be waiting until after dinner for pajamas and then taking care of our faces so we don’t need Botox later (now) and then listening to a book on cd and then watching a narrative based program on telly.  Oh and dinner is supposed to be pretend French – a salad course, a main course, a cheese/fruit course and a small bonbon.  This lasted a few days, along with our beauty regime and then . . .

The usual manic shove food into our maws/try to ship/try to craft for the next show/watch reality telly/drink a jug of wine/pass out in front of the television/wake up/go to work/ lather/ rinse/ maim is instead what we’ve been doing because we are the worst.

I’m definitely starting to make enough at shows that a change will be coming soon.  How soon, who knows?

In the interim, I’m trying to work on my personal practice as pictured above.  I have moments of progress.

But for now . . .

To sleep, perchance to dream
Aye, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would these Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveler returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all.

[Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1]
Deborah Castellano
Deborah Castellano's book Glamour Magic: The Witchcraft Revolution to Get What You Want is available for purchase through Amazon, Llewellyn and Barnes and Noble.
Her frequently updated catalogue of published work is available on Author Central.

She writes about Glamour Magic here at Charmed, I'm Sure. Her podcast appearances are available here.

Her craft shop, The Mermaid & The Crow specializes in old-world style workshop from 100% local, sustainable sources featuring tempting small batch ritual oils and hand-spun hand-dyed yarn in luxe fibers and more!

In a previous life, Deborah founded the first Neo-Victorian/Steampunk convention, SalonCon which received rave reviews from con-goers and interviews from the New York Times and MTV.

She resides in New Jersey with her husband, Jow and their cat, Max II. She has a terrible reality television habit she can't shake and likes St. Germain liquor, record players and typewriters.  

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One Response

  1. Oh, for… Listne to me. You know what else is French? Pot dishes. Like: Use your slow-cooker. Don’t bother with a salad course, just stew up a ratatouille or some other concoction that has at least three vegetables in it besides onions and garlic. (Frozen cubes of spinach are wonderful for these, so are boxes of pre-diced squash and jars of crushed tomatoes – I’m just saying). Chucking a bunch of stuff in a pot and letting it do the work all day means that you don’t have to deal with Cooking Time after you’ve dragged your exhausted ass home from All The Things. It helps.
    As for the jugs of wine… Oh, woman, I feel you on this. We’re SO not unpacked yet, and the amount of wine we’ve been drinking over the past two months+ is really starting to feel like there’s “self medication” going on somewhere in there. I don’t like it. Fretful. That’s stress for you, though.
    I’m really glad that things are moving towards Changes in terms of whether or not you keep the Day Job (and similar) – my wife is in the same boat right now, looking at leaving her Day Job and wondering how that’ll work out in the long (and short) run. I’m on deck for being “back of shop” help – doing prep for things, basically – but would feel beter if I could secure some sort of minimal steady income for myself (meaning “for us, but generated by me”) so that my unstead (but growing!) modeling work and her growing (but not guaranteed) leather work could be suplemented with something we actually knew we could count on. That would be good.

    I’m glad that you’ve reclaimed your Mondays. That’s important.
    Moments of progress are all we can hope for, sweetie.

    Thinking of you,
    Al.
    Meliad recently posted..W is for Womanhood – Pagan Blog Project 2014My Profile

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