Today I am scrubbing my house.

I am cleaning up the mess that has been eating my life, as part of my Work for Her.

I need to respect myself, She says.

I need to take care of myself, She says.

I can’t do that in this Cthulhu-like mess.

Clean house. Then formal ritual dedicating a whip to Her. Then feast.

It’s Her holiday, so it’s special.

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Eviction Notice

I’ve been renting out my space.

Sovereignty is total control over my own body, my own life, my mental and spiritual space. It’s what I aspire to in my worship of The Morrigan; it’s what I’m supposed to do for Her. She wants a tool that is sovereign; one that’s untainted by others’ energies and maliciousness. (The same idea for my own tools — I’m not happy when someone else’s energy gets on them.)

And I’ve been renting out my space.

I do this too often. And the tenants have left a mess for me to clean up.

I’m tired of being a landlady. For all I give them, they give shit back.

The land of my life is tired and broken. It grows nothing. I am barren, a wasteland wrought by people’s greed. There isn’t even any rain anymore, because it takes too much energy to cry.

All I can do is post an eviction notice.

Knock, knock. Your time using me up is done. Get out.