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The Moirai have been circling me for quite some time.  Maybe because I find them soothing (though overwhelming) instead of scary, maybe because of the spinning I do on my spindle and wheel, maybe because they are actually how I make sense of the world or maybe we just relate to the world somewhat similarly - that we are more What We Do than anything else.  It was really sealed for me two Philly Pagan Prides ago when I saw three blond (fairly identical) teenagers walking through the park together, unconsciously looking like that slow walk entrance scene in every teen movie ever.  And I suddenly thought to myself, what if that's what the Fates really look like?  Perfect, with zero fucks to give?  Holy shit that's terrifying.  My Lachesis (the measurer) had a whimsical thought while at the shore – what if the Fates went on vacation?  They would dutifully sun for a few hours before they all glanced at each other and silently agreed to do what they love – Clothos gleefully spinning cotton candy, Lachesis bellowing for people to let her guess their age and height, Atropos simply turning herself into a cat and eating every mouse that had the misfortune to make her acquaintance under the boardwalk.

Once upon a time, there was a girl.  We all know her.  She liked to get into cars with boys, she stayed out too late, she looked out for her own interests, she drank, she smoked, she danced on tables, she wore clothes that revealed just a little too much, she didn't play by the rules and she did all the things that nice girls didn't do.   She was the life of the party, girls wanted to be her and boys wanted to be with her.  She left a trail of jealousy and broken hearts in her wake and she never looked back at any of it while anyone could see her.  She only looked forward.

How could this be?  How could a girl who didn't play nicely with other girls (or boys for the matter) be allowed to prosper, thrive and become successful?  She's not following the unspoken rule that we have all agreed to - you are to aspire to become a princess from your shitty peasant life.  Not a queen.  A princess.  You are allowed to be lifted up (preferably by a man) that high.  And only if you are nice.  Only if you never ever hurt anyone's feelings and you say sorry when you do.  Even if they deserved it.  Especially if they deserved it.  Only if you attribute all of your success to others.  Only if you have never done anything at all questionable to get to be a princess.  You are allowed to be raised from the muck of your squalor to princess where you will smile, you will wave, you will do the things you are supposed to do.  You will not rule or make any kind of decisions that are not for puppies or children and then only if your husband says it's okay.  This is the pact.  This is what we all agreed to at birth.

Whenever Jow and I have a moment of time, we like to pretend that we will always have the luxury of time and immediately set about reorganizing our lives, both together and as individuals.  Sometimes it sticks (like we've been cooking more together), sometimes less so (See: Mount St. Laundry in the bedroom).  Inevitably, the conversation will cycle around to how we suck at having a spiritual practice.  We sometimes slap together a pooja to do together, we make offerings of water, light and incense to our goddesses, spirits and ancestors, I make offerings to my Ladies, he meditates sometimes, we do half asleep japa, once in a while we will "whale spout" (a mediation from an old book, I forget the actual name) but it's all v. ad hoc which is v. unsatisfying to Jow.  He wants to treat this like it's the first time he's ever gone on a diet.  Hardcore!  Constant effort!  No excuses!  Other fitspiration here!

Me: That's not going to work.

The longer you are in a relationship with a person(s), the harder it is to spend quality time together.  There are a lot of factors to why this is: you are currently getting on each other's damn nerves, you have been in a Netflix/Pokemon coma for several months, lots overtime at work/child-related commitments, you can't seem to manage keeping your house in a state that is not A Pit of Despair, Summertime Sadness and other Adulting afflictions.

Somewhere, in the back of your head, you figure well, there's always next week, we'll try then. Except next week keeps coming and dates keep not happening.  On one hand, this is a soothing part of a long term relationship: you are 90% sure Partner(s) are not going anywhere so you have that reassurance that eventually, you can work this out and get the romance rekindled.  On the other hand, this is how entropy happens, Charmers.  The more time you spend not actively engaging with each other, the more it's a habit, the more it's a habit the less there's romance and the less kindly inclined you will be towards each other.  Think about it: if you have a recent super fun memory of Partner(s), are you going to be more inclined or less inclined to not start World War III over something trivial?  If you don't have a recent super fun memory of Partner(s), are you going to be more inclined or less inclined to start World War III?  Right.

Whenever a witness on my beloved Judge Judy starts hemming and hawing about a question they don't want to answer, she always barks, Um is not an answer!  But sometimes?  It kind of is.

I always assume that everyone who reads me is a psycho in the same way.  You know what you want, you know how to get it, you just need a kick in the ass to get it.  But then I look at people I actually know and I realize that not everyone knows what they want in the micro or macro.  For example, I thought I'd be writing books about hearth witchery.  It turns out though that writing recipe based pieces (such as my Llewellyn annuals work) is incredibly tedious for me.  I don't mind it for the annuals, but a whole book?  I'd run away to New Orleans with no forwarding address a lot faster than I would be likely to actually finish it.  I knew I wanted to be a writer since I was eight, but what I actually write about depends on who's paying, like most artists.  I've written smut, I've written about camping (despite loathing it) and camping equipment, I've written about miniature goat farming.  I prefer the smut and the witchy over content writing, but I would do content work again if I had to and I would love to write Young Adult.  But I spent several years working to pave my way into hearth witchery, to the point that it was the first proposal my editor had from me.  She wanted it to be witchier and I said, I can do that but can I pitch a few other things first?  We can come back if you don't like any of it.  She picked up glamour and here we are.  I love hearth based witchcraft, but I'm passionate about glamour. 

We all know that time, that heady thrill when you start to become competent at Witchcraft and you know which names to flaunt, who to be friends with if you want to be in with the in crowd, what paths will get you recognition, what is considered brave, daring and bold. 

We also know who we are supposed to look down on. 

People die, things break.  At one point you had your life together but somehow, through a confluence of chemical fiesta related issues (depression, anxiety, whatever is misfiring up in there), your body that keeps insisting on getting sick and/or will not let go of your permanent medically diagnosed conditions, overwork at the office, creative projects and your Muse that never shuts up, heartbreak, children whose self-governing skills are suspect, the thoughts that are peaceful until you lie down and then it's a riot and that one time you had a free night?  Did you do anything productive?  No, you did not.  You sat up drinking margaritas in the ruins of your house with your besties while watching Jennifer's Body for the eighty billionth time, laughing and throwing popcorn at each other.

More and more of your to-do list becomes unchecked until you stop bothering to make one.  The dishes tower to the heavens, you eat food out of a box like a garbage animal, you binge on Netflix, you don't go for walks or to the gym or to yoga, you haven't seen anyone (your besties, your spouse, your lover, your family, your kids) much at all due to these modern life crossed conditions leaving you shipwrecked and alone.  You haven't been engaging in any activities that please you - going to the farmer's market, making plans to go bowling at midnight, finishing knitting that shawl that you keep picking and putting down, the book you always are too tired to read and your refusal to do anything that doesn't feel safe and familiar has painted you into such a corner that you don't remember what it was like to enjoy your daily life anymore.