Fuck That!

CAULDRONS, CRISES & COFFEE:

HOW TO SURVIVE A WORLD ON FIRE WITHOUT SPELLING "FIRE" WITH A Y

Welcome to another episode of “What Fresh Hell Is This?” brought to you by overpriced coffee, the ghosts under my floorboards, and the sound of democracy wheezing its last breath while my cat knocks my altar over for the sixth time this morning.

Let’s get one thing straight: I didn’t wake up to be reasonable.

I woke up because something exploded outside (again),

I ran out of black candles (again), and apparently, I have to participate in society when I’d much rather hex it into a different dimension.

Step 1:

Coffee First, Curses Later

Every morning starts the same:

Me: I will be calm today. I will center myself.

Also Me, 4 minutes later: WHO MOVED MY CAULDRON?!

I like my coffee like I like my majick: dark, bitter, and strong enough to resurrect the dead.

If you think I’m doing spellwork before caffeine, you clearly want something terrible to happen to your crops.

Step 2:

I Watch the News — and My Ears Go Pop

Yes, I watch the news. Religiously.

And by “religiously,” I mean I scream at the TV like it owes me money, and my ears physically pop from the sheer force of my rage.

Some smug meat puppet opens their mouth to lie again and suddenly I’m yelling, “SHUT UP, YOU SOULESS MUFFIN,” while throwing black salt at the remote.

Step 3:

Accidentally Start a Fire

It wasn’t me. It was the spirits.

I said ignite inspiration, not ignite the curtains. Words matter, spirits.

Do better.

Side note: Who made spell candles so tiny?

By the time I light one, it's already halfway melted and I'm questioning all my life choices — again.

Step 4:

Your Familiar Is Judging You

Casper, my demon in fur, stares at me like I'm the dumbest creature alive every time I drop something.

He’s right.

I am.

But I'm also powerful. And slightly feral.

And full of resentment. So, balance.

Step 5:

No One’s Okay.

We’re All Just Witching Through It.

You think you're alone?

Babe, witches everywhere are collectively howling at the moon and trying not to slap people at the grocery store for breathing too loud.

This is your official reminder that:

You’re allowed to be weird.

You’re allowed to cuss during rituals.

You’re allowed to cry, hex, laugh, and eat cake in the same hour.

We are chaos wrapped in lace, power wrapped in sarcasm, and every day we wake up, light that black candle, and say:

“Not today, you broom-sniffing fucks.”

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Chaos reigns. And she’s in a pointy hat.