I fall into puddles that cannot contain me.
Her work is betimes perplexing as it is fulfilling; tiring as it is enervating.
Sometimes I wonder what in heaven’s name I am doing. My fingers are worked to the bone; I could sleep for a thousand years.
But it will always be worth it.
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.