Bro.

I don’t know what the hell is going on with me lately, but something is off. It’s like I’ve been body-snatched by the spirit of Mercury retrograde—even though I know we just came out of one. I actually almost Googled it today, just to make sure the cosmos weren’t secretly plotting against me.

Turns out, they weren’t. But damn if it didn’t feel like it.

The nonsense started as soon as I opened my eyes.

I checked my bank account expecting to see a certain number from my second paycheck, only to be greeted with the harsh reality of being $200 short. “No big deal,” I told myself. “You know how to pivot.” So instead of my usual soft, slow morning routine, I slapped myself down at the kitchen bar and started stress-calculating my finances like a caffeinated accountant (even though I don’t drink coffee).

But the math was mathing in the wrong direction. Some of the bills I planned to cover this week would have to wait until next pay period. Annoying? Absolutely. But I made it work. Sort of.

Now with just 30 minutes left, I kicked into high gear: hair, makeup, outfit, and packing lunch. I finished getting dressed with time to spare, opened the fridge… and was met with a haunting emptiness. Not a single lunch, or breakfast, -worthy item in sight. Cool. Guess I’m stopping for breakfast and driving out for lunch. Great start.

I get in my car. The gas light is on.

OF COURSE IT IS.

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my third eye. But I refused to be broken. I grabbed some barely-passable breakfast from Burger King and made it to the office with a few minutes to spare. I reached into my purse for a cigarette—because, honestly, at this point—only to find I had two left. Whatever. I’d pick up a pack on my gas run at lunch.

I got out of the car and glanced down at my shirt—only to see a button missing, right across the boobs. Absolutely not. Not today, Satan.

The morning floated by in a haze, and then it was lunchtime. Migraine still raging (did I mention I’ve had one for a week straight?), I jumped back in the car for food, gas, and smokes. Chick-fil-A it is, because it’s reliable. Or so I thought.

As I was leaving the parking lot, some wild woman ran a red light while I was mid-turn and nearly T-boned me. I hit the brakes, hit the horn, and hit a level of rage I haven’t visited since 2020. I pulled into the gas station full of swear words and vibes. Appetite: gone. Headache: leveling up.

I grabbed my cigarettes, pumped my gas, and spent the rest of my lunch break in my car, AC blasting, eyes closed, trying to meditate the migraine away. Chick-fil-A untouched. Vibe ruined. Stomach growling. Spirit fragile.

I texted my girlfriend to ask about dinner—she had said she’d grab something on her way home so I didn’t have to worry. Her reply? “Actually, I got pizza earlier. You’re on your own.”

BRUH. WHY?!

At that point, I mentally checked out. I spent the rest of the afternoon binge-watching Survival of the Thickest on Netflix at my desk. (Sidebar: Michelle Buteau is an icon and I would 100% let her narrate the audio version of my breakdown.)

Finally, 5 PM. I dragged myself back to my car—headache still tap dancing across my forehead—only to have two tire pressure sensors go out and light up my dashboard like a Christmas tree. I took a deep breath, said woosah like I meant it, and drove home ignoring everything but the finish line.

I got home, ordered Chinese food (because after the day I had, I deserve something greasy and delicious), and crawled into bed to finally work on my Witchcraft Wednesday post. A vibe reset, if you will.

My food arrived 40 minutes later. I was HYPED. Orange chicken, combination fried rice, and crab rangoons—my holy trinity. I took a bite of the orange chicken and immediately had to spit it out. SALTY. Like “they accidentally used ocean water” salty. Tried the rice. Same problem.Apparently, the person on salt duty took their job very seriously. The only thing seasoned more heavily than this food was my patience.

But guess what? I still didn’t lose it. I stayed grounded. I noticed the chaos, but I didn’t let it take me out. Not fully. Not until the final straw.

I pulled out my laptop, ready to pour my chaotic energy into some Witchcraft Wednesday magic… and I couldn’t access my site.

Why?

BECAUSE MY DOMAIN EXPIRED.

Despite being set to auto-renew, my domain expired yesterday. Which also explained why my coworker was having trouble accessing it. I scrambled to renew it, but now I have to wait 24–48 hours for it to refresh.

So now, not only am I migraine-y, hungry, and spiritually disrespected—I can’t even post my witchy blog because my digital portal is CLOSED.

Turns out I wasn’t just watching Survival of the Thickest today—I was starring in the off-brand, migraine-fueled remake.

The Real Spell of the Day

So yeah… no Witchcraft Wednesday post this week. But honestly? Maybe this was the post.

Because magic isn’t always candles and crystals. Sometimes it’s the quiet power of not spiraling when life is spiraling around you. Sometimes the most sacred thing you can do is laugh through the nonsense, stay soft when everything is hard, and remind yourself that surviving the day is the spell.

Reflection Questions for the Eldest Daughter Who’s Just Trying to Make It Through the Madness:

How often do you give yourself space to admit when things are just… not giving?
Or do you push through on autopilot because everyone expects you to?

When chaos finds you (because it will), do you let yourself fall apart—or do you default to fixer mode?
What would it look like to not be the one holding it down, just for a day?

What are your personal warning signs that you’re running on fumes—emotionally, spiritually, or physically? Are you paying attention to them, or brushing them off?

Do you feel like you’re allowed to have ‘off days’ without guilt or explanation? Who taught you otherwise, and are you ready to unlearn it?

How do you self-soothe when the world is loud but you still have to show up like nothing’s wrong? Do you need more softness, more stillness, or more support?

What would your inner witch prescribe for a day like today—ritual, rest, or rage release?

If survival is the bare minimum, what does thriving look like for you—even on days that start with overdraft alerts and end with salty takeout?