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It began, as these things often do, with a flickering candle, a broken coffee mug, and a crow giving me side-eye from the windowsill like he knew something.

I lit incense to clear the air, but accidentally summoned the Spirit of Unfinished Laundry. She showed up in a bathrobe, sipping wine, and sat on my couch like she paid rent. We made awkward eye contact. She offered no help.

Then came a knock at the door—The Universe. She arrived in velvet boots, holding a glittery clipboard and a latte that smelled suspiciously like judgment and oat milk.

“Hi, yes, just checking in to see if you’ve started that soul mission you were divinely assigned, or if you’re still emotionally buffering?”

I blinked. “I’m… recalibrating.”

She flipped a page. “Mmhm. Says here you’re overdue for your ‘Phoenix Rise and Shine’ moment. You were supposed to be reborn three Tuesdays ago.”

I muttered something about Mercury retrograde, gluten, and unresolved childhood trauma.

Unimpressed, she handed me a scroll titled ‘Everything You’re Avoiding, Vol. 2.’ It unrolled across the floor and under the fridge.

The crow cawed. The Laundry Spirit clapped.

So naturally, I lit another candle, saged the space (read: lit a cinnamon broom on fire by accident), and declared it a “Retroactive Sabbatical in the Name of Divine Delay.” Which is spiritual code for: “Nope. Not today.”

And you know what?

The Universe nodded. “Fair. Just don’t pretend you didn’t get the memo.”

Then she vanished in a puff of sandalwood, glitter, and passive-aggressive grace.

Moral of the story?

Even the Universe takes PTO. So if your soul needs snacks, naps, or one more day of existential side-eye before the next big thing—take it. Just maybe… answer the crow next time.

🖤🕯️

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