[A telephone conversation between myself and my High Priestess, Trothwy.]
Trothwy: “Hey! It’s me.”
Me: [quietly] “Hey.”
Trothwy: “Did I call at a bad time?”
Me: [a little louder] “No, no, not at all. What’s up?”
Trothwy: “Well, you know how we’ve been talking about re-reading Paul Huson’s Mastering Witchcraft together?”
Me: “Yeah, I’m enthused about that.”
Trothwy: “Me too! And you know how we’ve also been talking about building up more of a visible profile in Houston? I was thinking, what if we combined the two and offered a monthly book study?”
Me: “This is a great idea.”
Trothwy: “Because it’s such an iconic book, you know? And I really feel like the serious practitioners in this area could get some good information out of it.”
Me: “I agree.”
Trothwy: “I just have one reservation.”
Me: “What’s that?”
Trothwy: “So, Huson covers a lot of interesting, useful stuff, but he also doesn’t pull any punches with his writing. I’m not sure that everyone who might agree to participate will want to hear what he has to say.”
Me: “That is a conundrum.”
Trothwy: “And… okay, do you mind if I just vent?”
Me: “Sure, go ahead.”
Trothwy: “I’m tired of hearing people talk about what amazing Witches they are when they’re not doing anything. Do you know what I mean? It’s like, fine, you’re a big ol’ Witch, but what actual Witchcraft are you practicing?”
Me: “I totally understand.”
Trothwy: “And I know there’s this big push to separate Wicca from Witchcraft, and to make Witchcraft all mainstream or whatever, but still, I can’t be the only damned one in this city who feels like…”
Me: “Oh, shit.”
Trothwy: “Thumper? Are you alright?”
Me: “I think a security guard just spotted me.”
Trothwy: “Um… pardon?”
Me: “Crap, he’s definitely coming this way. I need to get back to my car.”
Trothwy: “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you right now?”
Me: “I’m in a cemetery.”
Trothwy: “And you are in a cemetery, running from security guards at four o’clock on a weekday afternoon, because…?”
Me: “I needed graveyard dirt, and they lock the gates at five.”
Trothwy: “…”
Me: “Everything’s fine, though. I paid the guardian spirits with old coins, and I wiped down my offerings for fingerprints before I left them.”
Trothwy: “…”
Me: “But I’m sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?”
[beat]
Trothwy: “I fucking love you.”
[Ed. note: The title of this post is a bit obscure, so for more info, click here and bop along with what the moody kids in my day used to listen to before Emo was officially a thing.]
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