Articles by admin

rain & a softness for broken things.

another bad night, of which I really do not wish to speak…which seems entirely counterproductive in a diary, I’ll admit, but I have never made claims towards being wholly sensible nor logical, and nor shall I. not today at least. I will just note down that over and over, I’m very surprised at my own MacGuyvering skills. if something breaks, and I have a screwdriver and drawer of miscellanea at hand…I can probably rig up a fix for it, or at least a temporary one until its replacement gets here. it almost seems a waste that I don’t have, nor do I want, children. oh, the toys that would go on endlessly with Mama’s knack for repair~

a grey and rainy day to match my low mood. I wished to move some items from my residence into the storage shed yesterday (which I could not due to pain keeping me abed yet again…); luckily I got them out of the way this morning just before the deluge started. I jest, really — it’s not a light rain, but it isn’t a roaring bucketing-down like yesterday. I am thankful for that, for my head’s sake if nothing else. Poets who write reams about how romantic the sound of rain on a tin roof is honestly don’t seem to have spent that long under one while it’s happening, I have to say — there comes a point where your brain simply cannot interpret it as white noise no matter how hard it tries…

(thank all that’s good and pure for noise-cancelling headphones!)

at a low ebb.

today I am full of ire and indignance and frustration and unseelie feelings. I want to scream, I want to rage, I want to sob into my pillows…but I cannot. I need to stay in control. expression doesn’t help; undamming the reservoir during a flood makes everything worse, so much worse.

keep control. keep silent.

but nothing changes if nothing changes.

a butterfly trapped in a chrysalis. a flower doomed to remain a bud forever. a moon forever gibbous, never reaching the full.

on and on, etc etc, same as it ever was.

there must be some way outta here…

anyway….

I hope I’m not jinxing myself by saying this, but I’m terribly afraid my laptop computer — my mirror in the tower (I should have named him Shalott), my lifeline, the one who knows me to the absolute — is starting to tire out. I am hoping and literally praying that this isn’t the case, and he’s just slightly sick of humidity and summer heat, but he is ten years old come March (perhaps that is 80 in computer years? He’s a fine old gentleman, I love him so…), so it wouldn’t be surprising…but it would be horrifying. There is no possible way I could replace him at the moment — I don’t have that kind of money in my situation, and thanks to certain people* throwing about the words “grifter” and “get a job”, I can’t even begin to consider crowdfunding or asking for financial help.

(Here’s the thing: holding down a job when your nerves are literally fraying is actually impossible, my other disabilities notwithstanding. Employers tend to prefer healthy and able-bodied employees — trés fou, non? Here’s another thing: mind your own business, you vile, odious, horrid little cretin.)

needs must.

another wasted day spent in bed. considering that i currently find lifting my coffee mug a savage exertion on par with lifting an elephant one-handed, perhaps it was the best place to be. or it would have been, if the mattress wasn’t so hideous that lying flat on one’s belly hurts. but what can you do. what can you do, you might as well not worry about it.

except…things don’t work that way. nothing changes if nothing changes. i don’t understand why we have to exist in a pit of despair, then pretend to be happy with it. it’s utter poison and it’s destroying my soul. maybe not everything can be perfect, but can’t some things be mended, all the same? and i don’t mean mending in the sense of “ignore what’s wrong and keep smiling because stressing about these things is exhausting”, because that isn’t mending, it’s outright bloody ignorance–!!

living in despair and pain is stressful and exhausting on its own. ignoring it doesn’t make it stop.

i can’t keep living like this…it isn’t living…it’s barely existing. and it’s existing in such a painful and sorrowful state that the opposite seems a sane option.

i am very, very tired, and very, very, very sad.

of missed days and coffee

oh dear, what a pity that today was a complete write-off, it being Lughnasadh. I sadly spent the entire day in bed, except for a very brief window early in the morning, due to pain and illness. hardly celebratory, but I don’t doubt that the Gods I worship would understand — time is a slippery thing anyway, is it not? I had nothing concretely planned, for this very reason. I will honour the occasion this evening with a small candle ritual, I think. I won’t promise I’ll do any more than that, as judging by how bad the pain levels are this morning, it seems 50/50 as to whether I’ll get around to it at all, but such is life with chronic illness. it’s vile, and I hate it, but I cannot change it.

not unless some severe government reforms take place, mind you, and I shan’t hold my breath waiting for those, or I daresay I’d be in even more pain than I already am. (“one solution, revolution…” is looking more and more likely as time goes by…)

may those in the northern hemisphere have a most blessed Imbolc, and my fellow southern hemisphereans, I hope you had a blessed Lughnasadh. (*^_^*)

it is because I missed the day that I have very little to note down of any real interest — I washed my hair last night, at 2pm or thereabouts, does that count? heartbreakingly, that’s almost as fascinating as I ever get, lately…

toil and trouble, all right.

I’m going there, because I’m pissed off.

my religion is not your something!core aesthetic fake-ass BS.

burning a candle and buying a crystal does not make you a witch. dressing in black does not make you a witch.
people put years and years of study, comparison, and UPG into their practice. you do not get to waltz in and whine about gatekeeping just because you want to wear a black shawl.

this isn’t gatekeeping. you can dress “like a witch” (…I’m currently in an oversize Sailor Moon tee and embroidered lounge pants…how do witches dress again?), you can go gothy and fun with your aesthetic. that’s fine; a look is a look. you can certainly learn about crystals and candle magic, and even perform it every now and then.

but do not call yourself a witch if you’re just doing it for clout or the look of it. you don’t get to do that anymore than I’m allowed to call myself a Muslima if I decide to wear a hijab.
absolutely do. not. co-opt. witchy. spaces. if you are not a witch, or a sincere seeker.
this is people’s religion, spirituality, sincerely held belief. not a tiktok trend.
(also, there are witches out there who don’t own a single crystal and have never done a candle spell in their lives. I know, gasp. it’s like this…isn’t a trend to follow, or something?!)

a male witch isn’t a “warlock”, a warlock is an oathbreaker. a male witch is, gasp, a witch.

Harry Potter has n o t h i n g to do with real witchcraft. I do not care what you think your Hogwarts house is if we are supposedly discussing the craft. N O T H I N G.
(also, stop supporting openly bigoted TERFs already. it’s so passe.)

why don’t you trendoids go co-opt Christianity or something, make nuntok the next Thing. just gtfo of spaces for actual devotees of a spirituality that regularly gets shit and has false information about it passed around in the mainstream to this day.
(you do not know shit about real witchcraft just because you watched an episode of Riverdale. end of.)

you’re all surface no feeling.
with all my heart, please fuck off.