„Deeper in the existential dread.“
That was not the answer my witch had expected when asking for the sparkling wine.
„Refrigerator“, I say. „Means, existential dread.“
I just hate refrigerators.
They‘re always chubby and big, and wrong in the picture. Even those that aren‘t white. I once saw a pink one at a party, and I still felt like searching a hell scape for a drop of escape at some point that night.
My witch sighs. „I don‘t mind my drink to be cold.“
„Well, the next one is already inside.“
I hated putting things inside.
Food that would have usually rotted away or been eaten up by mold.
I hated filling it up with things to swallow tomorrow, or next week.
With cheese, a steak, or a half a cucumber.
I hated to even think about it.
To plan the next day as if I could even be sure for it to actually happen. I never was.
„Where does this mood come from?“, my witch giggles, while stealing another bottle from my mother‘s kitchen in the middle of the night.
„Which mood?“
Oh yes, this funny mood.
Maybe it just came from filling up this stupid thing, even with food for more than one person. Even with ice cream for more than one person. Maybe it just came from realizing how clean the hell scape of existential dread could look once my mother took care of it.
„Or, meeting old friends is just not as much fun as you thought it could be“, Layla suggests and I want to frown hard enough to get rid of my face.
„Don‘t get me started again!“
Started on counting all my old friends that had been having Babies, although we‘re not even 30 yet?
Started on kids I used to babysit outrunning me with their careers?
Started on realizing that I could not explain to any of them what exactly I did with my life except not having died yesterday for what reason ever?
And before she had opened her mouth again, I also stopped her from getting started.
Started on telling me that I could still have a Baby ten years from now?
That the right person for that could hide just around the corner?
That I at least did a job I liked and could, most of the time, eat whatever I want by the end of the month?
That I was still alive?
As I said, I hated planning.
I hated planning the hell scape of existential dread.
I hated counting on things.
Oh, I hated counting on anything or anyone!
Thank God, my witch shared her sparkling wine with me.
And convinced me not to get rid of my refrigerator yet.
“And you will see each other again”, she sighed.
“What?”
But my witch just giggled into our cold and tasty bottle of sparkling wine.
I wish I’d told you all my stories.
I want to tell you all my storiesIt’s not that they would changeIt’s just that I would likeTo see themFormA new expressionOn your face I need to tell you all my storiesI am not sureIf they makeSenseThe way I thoughtThey do. I will tell you all my storiesThey frighten meI’m sure you won’t endureI see…
Dealing with darkness in writing
This spring afternoon is glowing pink and tastes like strong tea. It feels much too familiar, and I begin to open up.I feel far away from myself as I start to talk, to babble on about my novel. About all the things I’ve been reading about in the past 5 years. About the 17th century,…
Radical witching novel rewrites at 4 AM!
I wore the same night dress my witch used to wear to get drunk on my windowsill, when I suddenly had an idea at 4 AM. Great ideas always happen at 4 AM, remember? This one however, kept me awake for at least a week, debating it back and forth. At some point my witch…
Mistress witch writes 