Our house looks like a opium den. We’re much more poorly dressed and the debris is much less sexy. Crafting supplies are strewn all over the place, small stacks of cash with post it notes stuck to them litter the table, Indian takeout containers, empty boxes, teacups with cold half drank tea festoon every surface. We’ve killed an entire bottle of gin and an entire bottle of St. Germain in under two weeks. The laundry and dishes are stacked near to the ceiling.
It’s been my most successful year for The Mermaid and The Crow and Lordess, we’re drowning. Jow has been amazing, cooking and cleaning All the Things, prompting me that we’re having a conversation when I stare vaccently at the wall midstream, addressing parcels, being amazing.
Next weekend, this is my schedule:
Friday – Catland from 12p-10p
Saturday – Make more candles, have Jow’s birthday jamboree
Sunday – Philly Punk Rock which will have us up at omg o’clock am in a likely unheated building for ten hours
Monday – Take my mom for a minor surgical procedure
And somehow, as truly psychotic as it’s been, working ten hour days at my day job and then coming home to spin and spin and spin straw into gold, we’ve been happy. Swaying together in our living room, tumbling into bed, smoking, drinking, laughing, watching Reign. Being sick.
It’s complete madness and chaos.
But I bought us a Christmas tree and roping. Somehow, please Goddess, it will all come together.