A day in the life of a modern witch
What’s it like when you’ve lived for centuries, have magical blood that is angry, rotted and old running through your veins and are about to be late for work because you’re trying to watch the latest Rihanna performance on your iPhone?
Dear Diary,
Another day I wake, another day more wearied with the rotting humanity around me. It isn’t their flesh that goes rancid, mind, but their hearts, so soured and bloated on the excesses of this age.
In other news, Rihanna’s outfit during her performance of “Where Have You Been” at the VMAs was to DIE for!
As I walk on this street, my hand itches and I sense there is a MAN looking at me. For his own sake this is a bad idea and I will not stand for it. I will bellow and terrify the little human. Maybe then he will take care and fear for his life more.
Splitting poles is bad luck. Spilling salt is bad luck. Men in the house is bad luck.
*sneezes three times* Hell, someone is talking shit about me
To do list:
- Set up altar
- Glare at men
- Get that new cat food that’s on sale
*Holds breath while walking past Hillary Clinton’s campaign office*
Human: I like this little jewelry box!
Me: Thanks, it’s filled with graveyard dirt, salt and a coin.
Human: What’s your middle name?
Me: I don’t give that out in case one of you silly fuckers tries to bind me
Dear Diary,
It seems I have misplaced my grimoire and my favorite snake ring. Today is literally the worst day ever.
Human: How has life been recently, Briana?
Me: This human body I currently inhabit has been treating me adequately, yes. I MEAN oh, this, this is mine, I was born in it, I didn’t jump into the mother’s womb and take her child’s form when things were getting a little too heated for me in Prague! PHEW, Crisis averted!
Dear Diary,
That funny little human I mentioned before just has the sweetest eyes and I am besotted with him. A love potion to gain his affection and make him leave his girlfriend would be standard fair, but of course that clearly crosses the lines of consent and isn’t a sisterly way to behave to a fellow woman, who I am sure is just lovely despite being human. I shall brood in my hovel on chicken legs and work on incantations instead.
Human: Her name is Charlotte, she’s two months old!
Me: Oh, she’s so beautiful, can I hold her?
*whispering* This tiny child will do, she has a strong aura about her. She will be my apprentice. Come now, youngling.
Hisses and hisses and hisses and hisses and-
Dear Diary,
There is no Black sheep, wand, animal skull, or curandera emojis with the latest iOs update. Do I feel erased by Apple or would I be more offended if they engaged in what are ultimately poor, oversimplified stereotypes of my kind? #ProblematicOrNah
“Oh, I can’t tonight, it’s a full moon, rituals, fuckery to avoid, you know the deal!”
*Looking at the moon* My mother taught me that when she is yellow and half full it means she is jealous…or is it that she’s in love? Either way she’s sad that she lost her son.
Google Search: Does Sage Piss Off Strong Spirits?
Dear Diary,
The grumpy silver cat son across the street was kinder to me when I went to greet him today. Also, I found a nice little bird skull! It will go well with the snake skin, feathers, and wolf’s skull for the altar.
Human: It’s nice to have a summer party like this with staff! We should do something for the holidays!
Me: Fall is the time of the Blood Sacrifices.
Human: …yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking too.
Me, ignoring human’s tone: We are twins, you and I.
Dear Diary,
Rihanna in the “Pour It Up” video.
That is all.
These plants are my sons. This tiny cedar waxwing is my son. This praying mantis is my daughter. This neighborly cat is my son. All of the earth’s creatures moving and surging and birthing and dying under the eye of the eternal heavens are my familiars and I am mother, unerring gentle yet cruel, to them all. But to answer your question, my cat’s name is Shampoo.
Dear Diary,
Tonight, I am craving a cheeseburger but have none of the wherewithal to leave my hovel to get one.
Now truly today is literally the worst day ever.
Image: “Giles Corey of the Salem Farms” by Henry Wadworth Longfellow, courtesy of Wikipedia
