why, on earth, do i, of all people, deserve to rest?

it has been three months of barista boss babe burnout recovery and every day feels

like a series of tests. to toil + to try, or to walk what i'm calling the pleasure path.

i have one foot in the old way, one ballerina tiptoeing into the new (paradigm of 2027?)

every moment is an opportunity.

every tiny choice.

i can putter about aimlessly, subconsciously seeking suffering

in the form of unnecessary, ultimately fruitless tasking.

i can perform productivity in some form of prostration

to the divine male gaze of my understanding (sky daddy).

…

Please lord, I have journaled, cleansed and organized a desk drawer, done 10 minutes of low impact movement, listened only to dopamine optimizing binaural beats study music, I have grit-grind-clench-jaw-hunched-shouldered my way through a pile of job applications…

now, am I good and worthy of your blessing

/ my current most desired manifestation??

THAT…

… OR, I can heed the call of my soul.

Subscribe now

which has never instructed me more clearly:

rest religiously. recover.

and, most audaciously of all, learn to receive.

now, the diaries:

⋆★⋆

4:44am: i woke with a head full of doubt and a bladder full of urine (likely thank u to my new foamed milky chamomile bedtime treat). i believe waking around 4am is also considered an indication of liver issues in TCM. the byproduct of repressed rage. this is, obviously, due to insufficient journalspeak practicing.

⋆★⋆
luckily, for current me, at midnight last night, right before heading to bed, i left my pink heart covered diary and pink fluffy pompom pen right by the sink. i also left a long elegant taper lit in the tiled shower.

⋆★⋆

so, seated gracefully on the potty, i brain dumped all of my current fears, limitations, and questions by golden candlelight, then crawled back into bed. feeling a teensy bit lighter.

♥
5am-ish: ^ was swaddled in aforementioned love + an invitation into soft self tending and true self given TLC.

♥

8:50 am: the late sun woke me and i am still pooped. carrying guilt and dread. right now, my man works so hard and i just putter about and play all day. it is not fair. it is not right.
☼
groggy, i roll over in my new olive green muslin bedding ( a treat i technically can’t afford) and replay ’s latest pod episode. i burrow a bit deeper into the cotton sheets, and listen.

☼

it is everything i need to hear. to remember. everything i already know about this liminal space moment. (my deeper reflections will be shared on friday’s audio diary entry…subscribe here if you’d like to listen to that episode. it will be free.

☼

10am: brushed teeth w. BOCA whitening toothpaste from America, a tiny pearl, savored. the bottle is nearly done.

aura cleansed, dressed in 90s yoga mom outfit (daily uniform), self blessings of Pino Santo ( a tiny burning piece of pine from our swedish friend’s forest home) lit candles and covered face in raw honey.

Am now ready for nourishment. the ever-present question arises: listen to my body: a stomach rumbling call for protein + fiber + olive oil… or my spirit’s undying thirst for the mood lifting benefits of ceremonial cacao on an empty stomach. went with spirit. today.

11:30 am: have been listening to eastern spiritual chanting for one hour now. it started with my favorite, most potent, most powerful nam yo renge kyo, a clearing, a blessing. then deva premal & similar retro treats (snatam kaur, krishna das, etc).

felt a deep pang of tenderness for all the souls on a healing path. all that yearning, all that trying. all the abstinence, the humble brave attempts, the money spent: trying to get better. to be purer. to feel free.

all the wailing at kirtan concerts, inversions in yoga class, tiny silver needles on pineal glands and tiny glass bottled potions, magic bullet cures.

the repressed cries. the feelings of helplessness. the need to avoid seeming like a victim AT ALL COSTS. understandable complaints replaced with carefully chosen cherry picked*words as spells*, high vibrational mantras, affirmations of empowerment. swallowed truth and supersition.

speaking your desired reality into existence. (when really, we just needed to let it out).

i felt sudden sadness for how often + for how many people these valiant efforts don’t work. it didn’t save them. and they blame themselves.

i wondered then, if maybe all this nervous system regulation stuff ive been learning, parts and inner child tending ive been doing… would have done the trick for them too. that and some real gentleness.

the worthiness to receive without efforting first.

12:00: felt more ache. more missing, mourning, grief, guilt. growing pains.

i realized this ache, an ache that my matriarchal ancestors

would have masked with cleaning

and that i now, spiritual girly of the millennium,

mask with the artist’s way, TBM, a sparkly variety pack of deprivation

navel gazing, self flagellating, and avoidance masquerading as growth

—is not meant to be masked. but to be held, honored. tended to.

it is meant, perhaps, to be swaddled in blankets and pillows and blessed with cups of hot tea + reminded, through the sacred whisper, the permission, of my lover, my soul, my higher self, and even julia cameron,

to be treated like a precious object.

12:30 it is nap time now. after my reboot, i plan to do some gentle movement: somatic release and restorative yoga, on a sheepskin, with some balls of various sizes and textures and density.

if there is something important to do

i trust i will be called, i will be led, i will be guided to execute.

20 years in hospitality and 2 years in the in spiritual boss babe coaches coaching coaches industry

helped to form an operating system

that believes deeply that abundance and prosperity are only earned through:

1. denying the body (no time to pee, rest, or eat)

2. ignoring feelings( must smile at people you’d rather bite)

3. through urgency, unique intricate humiliation rituals, oversharing shameful secrets online, overriding the limits of your nervous system, your sensitivity, your readiness.

now: the opposite is the medicine.

and i'm taking the elixir of soft, slow, easeful with spoonfuls of sweetness to help it go down. stay tuned spiritual girlies. i'm preparing to launch something nourishing + manifesting a sidejob that feels good and also, a life of unbearable tenderness and joy.

xo, M

P.S. hello lovey. <3 if you like the idea of accessing all future unemployed spiritual princess™diaries (upcoming editions will be for paid subscribers) AND also receiving cozy tea drinking/ everything showering/ laundry folding company via my voicenote podcast, PLUS ⚡︎ having access to a full archive of past paid tier niche wellness pieces like this, and these:

Please, please, please consider the tremendous gift of support for this work:

it will allow me to keep showing up, to write more newsletters, and, frankly, to get by!

I did the math, and if exactly 100 of you girlies decide to just try it + to sign up for just one month (only $4) -cancel at any time- that’s one month of my current healthcare expenses completely covered: my prescription medicine + one bar of ceremonial cacao (writing fuel) to be specific.

Get 20% off forever

i do honestly feel slightly cringy + loathsome writing that invitation, but i know the love and magic fairy dust i pour into these blogs, and know also, it would be literally life changing for me.

alongside the gift of a tiny orange checkmark that id receive, + a newfound belief in my abilities as a manifestor / unblocker of limiting beliefs:

it will help cover my survival needs = thus, more creativity.

with that reward, of changing my life and blessing me significantly,

have to mention this:

they say generosity generates more prosperity consciousness and abundance for oneself. so maybe you'll also receive some more monetary blessings, alongside ample love letters and juicy cozy girly content. please consider it babes. x

P.P.S.

some camera roll glimmers of late:

P.P.P.S. I LOVE YOU!

xoxo, Michal <3

Happy spooky week. This is the moment we have been waiting for.

I write to you from the floor, on a taupe-y sheepskin throw, by candlelight. My hair is twisted in two dark damp long braids, post everything shower.

I am rosy cheeked, fragrant, and slightly sedated from the heat and the fresh air and the potent mix of feelings and seeings. I am wearing a white cotton nightgown. The window is cracked open wide and my bare legs are illuminated in milky blue light and the howling wind is a mix of pine and fresh smoke: the first fireplaces of the season are lit after a long, warm early autumn.

I have been taking moon baths nightly, on the generous wraparound wooden porch. Topless, for as long as I can bear. The sweet taurus moon energy is a balm: grounded, sensual, yummy, it asks: what can you taste, bake, cook, how can you make this Halloween cozy?

We have been spending the week of Halloween (my personal Christmas/Yom Kippur/ Holiest High Holiday of the year) in the cottage up north. The foliage is literally breathtaking, the sea is near. I am drinking maple coffee out of large mugs and buying pumpkin napkins half off at the local town’s little market.

This is the second year in a row that my love and I are celebrating Samhain-ween here, and I feel deeply grateful.

A few things I have been doing/ plan to do to celebrate halloweekend and the week leading up here in the coastal north:

1. topless moon bathing

2. duvet on the couch

3. pajamas until 4pm

4. no self care shoulds whatsoever (no facial massage, no fascia release, no inner blockage pondering, no inner child healing, no hypnotic meditating !! no nervous system nothing!! no journal, no podcast, no spiritual self improvement of any kind). nothing but a restorative yoga pose or two + being the messy bitch that I am.

5. subsisting mostly on soups and stews (my hearth, my ever bubbling cauldron).

6. that and a seemingly endless supply of warm beverages: a cup of sweet tea on the hour, every hour. ceremonial cacao with spice. black espresso shots. coffee. ceramic mugs strewn about. hot bubbly candlelit hand wash dish ceremonies nightly.

7. no phone: a week long digital detox. very mercury rx & venus rx. ghosting everyone to heal. ;)

8. a hot ghoul walk every day with my spooky season playlist (above).

9. evening dress of whimsical gothic finest. black velvet, tights, etc. channeling the 90s witch + mazzy star’s hope Sandoval, eternally.

1. both high + low dopamine activities:

2. i.e. watching LOTS

   • Hotel Transylvania 1 & 2 (these movies warmly display my two favorite things on earth: hotels + cozy hauntedness. also, this activity doubles as ancestor honor ritual, as my grandmother was Transylvanian).

   • Scooby doo in the morning with breakfast, hocus pocus by lunch, halloweentown at bedtime - the grandmother in that one has a deliciously ASMR-esque voice, I feel).

   • Also, Coraline, Corpse Bride, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Beetlejuice 1 and 2.

   • Golden nostalgic goodies: It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, Fantastic Mr. Fox, my 4 alotted Gilmore girl episodes of the week, Young Frankenstein, Addams Family, Over the garden wall.

   • Aesthetic whimsigoth inspo: The Witches of East Wick, Practical Magic 1, The Craft, Bram Stokkers Dracula, Nosferatu, Death Becomes Her, Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

10. And also, enjoying the rare opportunity for ample quiet solitude. Daytime naps, staring at the trees, the sea, the moon. Doing analog, hands on things my inner little girl LOVES, not because its goodytwoshoes or low dopamine per say, but because its fun, juicy, lights my generator sacral soul up with glee!! like….

    

11. Candle-lit self care: vanity led beauty focused kitchen witches rejoice!

    ❀step 1: set the scene. light a low tox scented candle of choice (I love apple cider or psl, OFC) plus other tapers and tea lights.

    ✿step 2: choose one to three simple homemade beauty elixirs that you’d like to make, gorgeousness potions, to whip up.

    some examples: yogurt avocado honey egg white face mask, rosemary nettle hair spritzer, cinnamon coffee sugar body scrub.

    ❀step 3: make something sweet hot and spiced to sip on while making them.

    ✿step 4: find a recipe or use your intuition! or ask me :)

    ❀step five: make your little wonder, place it in a pretty jar or amber spritzer bottle or similar…

Read more

some things discussed:

1. a spooky season full moon energy update

2. everything showers as seasonal delights

3. collection of favorite movies and tv shows

4. nervous system healing via netflix viewing

5. doing less, being in my feminine, updates on my unemployment era

6. midnight scone baking, a halloweekend trip up north, and other bits and bobs.

thank you so so so so much for being here. let me know how your peak autumn / spooky cozy season / october is going? ily x

in today’s episode i share a few gentle tips + tricks (no shoulds / burdensome to-do lists here!!) to help you fall in love with fall: even the darker colder long nights of it all.

if i (a black cat dark deep brooding indoorsy autumn enthusiast) can learn to love summer, i feel that you, my golden bubbly sunnier companion, can fall in love with pumpkin season.

clothing, curriculums, playlists, pinterest, cooking, candles, beauty, beverages, nature walks, media (books, tv, movies) self care evenings, solo dates, and the healing balm of turning inward (for magic / introspection)and so much more.

tune in for: a chatty catchup, reflections on connection/libra season 4 sensitives, things i am loving, october magic, and an autumnal bucket list. grab your mug of spiced sweetness, pile on your wool socks, and lets muse + enthuse together my cozy coven.

x michal

I write to you from the grass. I am sitting on a little sheepskin throw, my laptop is resting on a wooden sun chair. Pretty little bowls of healthy snacks surround me, along with one giant mug of sweet, milky tea.

I am delighted to be here.

It’s one of those warm, bright September midmornings when you think: being alive really is so nice. So often.

I started my day, most unusually for me, with a brisk little walk around the neighborhood.

Going for a walk is usually something I have to work up to, or at the very least, brush and bun my curly dark pop of hair for.

But the thing is, I’m not who I normally am anymore. I’m becoming someone new.

You too?

For one, I think my social anxiety is starting to melt a little. Loosen its grip. Fall away, like so many other things that have kept me stuck for so long.

And while in so many areas, the thawing and releasing can be deeply painful, even terrifying:

oh wow, look at all those tiny, sweet, tender little girl emotions
that have been suspended, shocked still in space and time for so long,
like a tiny pink and lilac petaled flower
in a decorative floral ice cube

this welcome newness, the pleasure of viewing things rather than constantly feeling I am being viewed, is a welcome change. It is time to LIVE LIFE. I deserve TO BE HERE.

At 8 a.m., I made a big mug of pumpkin-spiced ceremonial cacao, the first of the season, pulled on a chunky powder-blue sweater over my beat-up black cotton bra and big boyfriend boxers, laced up my grandpa shoes, and went for a little stroll.

Not aimlessly, but on the hunt for the perfect honeyed sun spot.

The biggest tree in our neighborhood is shedding large, burnt-orange, maple-like leaves and presenting us with many little kastanjer, with which to make animal figurines, a Danish tradition.

Sunny enough to feel warmed, held, and welcomed.

Crisp enough that my breath made little plumes of mist.

Sweet September.

As I sipped my autumnal ambrosia, I felt, as I almost always do, a drop in my shoulders, a softening in my elevens, my heart space lifting and clearing a little bit.

Now I am here, writing to you from a weird little makeshift outdoor office, topless - to receive the sun on my upper chakras, intent on productivity/forward momentum toward my highest goals and destination… alongside a connection to nature, to pleasure, to sensory delight. Like the girl on the subway doing light yoga stretches, wearing thick rimmed red-light glasses, a double-wrapped scarf, a hat, and noise-canceling headphones (to protect her HSP organs of perception) and desperately clutching a rose quartz… (me) looking weird and wild. protected by pleasure. neurotic, neurodivergent. absolutely alien, authentic.

Anywho…

Tomorrow is the first day of October, peak autumn, something many of us (most of us, dear reader?) wait for all year round !!

The pumpkins. The evening candlelit everything showers. The apple-cinnamon simmer pots. The foliage drives up north. The spiced coffees. The Stars Hollow accompanied baking. The long lists of fall movies and books. The spooky, cozy magic of it all.

Today, though, is still September…and I’m sopping up the last bits of its candy-apple-red, sharpened-pencil-bouquet, sunny, crisp, back-to-school cheerfulness as I reflect on this perfect liminal month of late summer/early fall.

September has been intense…delicious, but also rough.

Hasn’t it, sensitive girl?

It has been: Transformative. Initiatory. Illuminating…uncomfortably so.

The post-eclipse shadows, the full moons, the pagan new year, Yom Kippur.

I’ve been trying to feel it all. To let it all in.

The many flavors: intense pleasure, beauty, grief, fear, change, excitement, fluttery love, crushing sentimentality, existential essential aloneness, aliveness.

Who are we becoming? What will come next?

Some people come alive in the in-between, dancing, anointed + trusting into the next chapter.

I get a little wobbly-kneed, craving the familiar, the solid, the known.

Individuation reminds me of abandonment. Becoming feels like a threat to cozy connection.

It feels easier to numb out. To bury my head in the muddy dark soil. To re-enter my cave. Attempt bear-like hibernation. Look away. Shut down. Refuse the imminent bloom. Stay tight in the bud.

I’ve learned not to personal-development-peak-optimization-be-your-best-self shove my inner trembling little girl out of her comfort zone, but rather to listen to her. Coddle her a bit as together, we microdose brave little steps. titrate. listen, honor, return to coziness as needed.

So right now, with utmost seriousness, urgency, and importance, I’m focused on small pleasures. On softness.

On delights and beauty and truly self-love-informed action.

On welcoming clarity, as much as I can bear.

The Truth must dazzle gradually,
Or every man be blind.

Below is a list of small pleasures, twinkly delights, and things that reminded me this month that it’s all worth it.

The opening up. The blooming into deep feeling.

Because re-sensitization brings with it deeper experiences of deliciousness, too.

a list of happy little delights:

consumption:

in my glass (and mug)

1. A French press full of flowers: My year of caffeine free libations turned me into a bit of an herbalist, and now, I cannot drink water unless it has been infused with magical little blooms, charged with soft powers. The minerals, the subtle, ethereal taste. Over the summer, it was hibiscus, this autumn, it is rose petal, nettle, and marshmallow root. I’d like to start leaving my libations under the light of the full moon everynight.Let’s see. As previously mentioned…I am a witch again.

2. Vanilla chai spiced cloud milk: Another caffieneless delight. Every evening, I whip up this little cup of comfort. Yogi classic chai (euro version), a sprinkling of vanilla bean powder, raw honey, steamed very fluffy whole milk. Such a delight, a reliable little ritual, it soothes me to my bones and soul.

food (+ pantry)

1. Free fruit: I guess it’s probably hard to describe this feeling to kids who didn’t grow up on food stamp organics, but there is something deeply comforting about the abundance of free fruit currently beaming on the trees and berry bushes all over denmark. They are all at peak bloom: tiny plums, apples, blackberries, raspberries, sea buckthorn, rosehips, etc. little juicy gems! Nature really is showing off right now, before she heads into a death cycle.

   blooming forth her every color in the moments she has left.

2. Grilled Fish: Firing up the grill on these dwindling late sun evenings feels like the perfect kiss goodbye to summer. We bought a lobster-esque delicacy from the little fish market in Tisvilde, the summer house village. In the dusky evening, we lit a bunch of outdoor candles, chatted, clinked, and luxuriated in the sweetness of the fish, the parsley, garlic, lemon, butter. It felt very fancy, very adult-like.

   

   

on my telly (films + shows).

1. Mating Season: Like Peter Rabbit, but horny. Everything nick Kroll creates seems to make me slightly weepy and hysterical with laughter. His stand up bit, referencing the hypnosis bedtime tapes he listens to nightly to deprogram his chronic snacking, his preteen inspired cartoon Big Mouth, and now this- a reflection on love and dating, but with little woodland animals. J’adore.

2. Man on the Inside: Season 2- Charles is such a cozy grownup, something my inner child loves to witness in all of her comfort shoes (magnetic parents). This season takes place on a college campus, so it felt very fall, very back to school. Solving non-scary mysteries feels quintessentially September-y. Mary Steenburgen + Ted Danson in love on screen… swoon!

   

books

1. Acts of Desperation by Megan Nolan: Perfect, sparse, devourable. Like Sally Rooney but darker, and peppered with intense self-preoccupation (less of the social justice caring about other people stuff) also tons o’ reflections on the debilitating nature of body image issues and lots of charming self loathing (so, sally Rooney but not everyone is a waif and it’s relatable).

2. The Mystery of Mercy Close by Marian Keyes: my queen writing about a charming autistic female PI. Explores depression, in a warm, even funny way. As previously mentioned, I love solving a mystery in the fall.

beauty secrets (potent lotions, potions +wonders)

1. sunshine in a bottle: not strictly a potion, or not a topical one anyway, but this flower essence remedy by feels like the perfect transition from late summer to deep autumn. Because happy girls are the prettiest, they say.

2. my summer house September uniform: a little white cotton nightgown from asos, nothing underneath, and hunter green Barbour wellies. feminine, frolic-y and free.

magic moments (pure joy)

1. found the first real autumn fallen leaf. A rainbow of yellow, red, green, burnt Sienna.

2. a transcendental experience with a cotton candy flavored deeply ripe juicy blackberry we picked ourselves, on a ladder by the big pine tree. one of the last ones on the bush. nearly brought tears to our eyes. happy to be alive.

3. summer house delightfulness : walking barefoot on sun speckled hardwood floors every morning, then stretchin on a fur throw, sitting on the perfect slouchy old couch and sipping milky twinings English black tea on the hour every hour out of locally made ceramic mugs, the only thing to do: work my way slowly through a fat stack of books, no facial massage, no journaling, just hot chocolate croissants and takeaway coffees and coastal drives along the danish riviera with peanut. Life! Yum! Happy, thank you, more please.

That’s it this month sweet sensitive souls.

I am wishing you an October full to the brim of nearly unbearable sweetness, overflowing pleasure & thinly veiled magic and enchantment, and many many little cherished delights.

LOVE LOVE,

Michal x

p.s. ily

p.p.s. some pictures below of things we ate saw enjoyed:

Happy Aries full moon.

Welcome to Small Delights.

She back.

Live from my sheepskin covered armchair,

sipping on a gilded teacup of spicy milk + honey comfort,

I muse and enthuse, noodle and deepdive on the things

I am learning and loving in this intense, post equinox moment.

Some delights + musings mentioned:

A nuanced approach to fall cleaning

Feng shui neurosis, and the life changing magic of gentle tidy-ness

Alix Earle, eldest daughters + emotional freeze in media

Rice as skincare: a DIY facemask I am loving right now <3

The chronic fear of messing good things up

The aesthetics + energetics of being basic and girly

(and why this is medicine for complex cerebral baddies)

& the lovely things currently in my fridge, oven, mug, bubbling on the stove

also mentioned:

Yogi Classic Chai : the perfect caffeine free yummy evening tea for lattes

Sunshine drops by : a sweet late summer, early autumn medicine for sensitives in the far north (who are prone to SAD, or just prefer lighter longer days).

Stay tuned! is blooming: Restorative movement + gentle self tending for sleepy girls.

xxx

Michali

hope you’re letting the full moon magic wash over you

+p.s. PSA: we can heal + receive upgrades without white knuckle earning it first.

in today’s episode i noodle muse + enthuse on:

• media: books, movies, tv for early september coziness

• lessons in abundance: the danish riviera + many cups of tea

• my first nancy meyers-esque piece of furniture + apartment dreams

• an apple picking cider making backyard hangout

• back to school supplies for my inner little one

w

xx ily byeeeee

A classical piece can move him so completely that, as I watch —transfixed and quite moved myself— the melody swells and fat salty tears gather on his long, spiky eyelashes — baby blues spilling over, streaming down his face.

The last time a song made me misty-eyed—the absolute height of emotional display for a Capricorn/Virgo moon who grew up too soon—

was today.

I was taking sun-warmed laundry off the line when, bizarrely, the lyrics to Fall Out Boy’s Sugar, We’re Goin Down floated in.

The intrusion is, in itself, not so odd :

I am 33.

FOB featured heavily in the american femme millennial coming of age:

Alongside: dirty fingernailed skater boys, sidebangs, razrs, AIM, Delias, lancome juicy tubes, free Sephora makeovers, and photobooth selfies at the Apple Store.

The emotional reaction though… Unique.

The lyrics are decidedly not moving. The melody is in no way beautiful.

But it transported me - because songs do that- from my quaint little garden in my quaint little danish seaside town, to a decidedly more wild and yes, alive feeling time.

2006, Strong Island. Summertime.

Read more

Welcome to the pod! <333

In todays episode I noodle-muse on:

What I drink in a day:

𓂃۶ৎ a wellness beverage girly diary: pleasure + medicine menus, herbal infusions.

Also:

𓂃۶ৎ a wildflower card pull, learned helplessness vs. soft surrender, recovering the gems of a death cycle (sans sugar coated grief).

𓂃۶ৎ Spiritual Girly 2.0 -the return of witchy new age delights (this time, no push, pressure, prostration or perfectionism).

𓂃۶ৎ manifesting a move, interior design dreams, inner child informed sofa choices

drinks mentioned: <3

𓂃۶ৎ yogi iced tea: green balance! whimsy! fruity! retro!

𓂃۶ৎ keith’s cacao : use code delight! at checkout!

the meme mentioned:

Happy Wednesday! Today's dilly dally diary for you: pink bow wrapped PMS induced negativity, summer afternoon self care Rx, and the best iced tea I have ever made.

𓇼 𓇼

Morning:

Mostly just an awful peak luteal day so far. There is nothing worse than contained premenstrual rage. Like a wasp trapped under a wine glass: sleepy + seething. Also, in my case, trying desperately to be pleasant. To present as a mature, evolved, wise, high vibrational celestial girl woman. Futile attempts to find a way out that isn’t through. Not at all surrendered.

Along with decidedly not “ feeling the feelings” many hours were spent ruminating about my recent brazen, high-self-worth decision to leave my coffee shop job. Leaping before the net appeared. I sense the angels whisper weaving a soft cushy landing for my next employment/ abundance situation, but old programming wins on days of such hormonal disadvantage. Doom-y Dickensian flavored daydreams won today. I couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck have I just done.

Mid Morning:

* clarity. *

The assignment:

The fire horse year, the sun and moon and stars, the danish job market are all urging me to (finally) work in a way that is soothing to my body, flows naturally, is of service - not servitude.

My higher self repeatedly asks: sweet child, how kind and generous can you be to your precious being in the in-between?

Princess treatment + panic free pampering are my daily homework.

Afternoon:

I am like a puppy in the way that an outing can completely transform my consciousness and internal state.

Angelic male specimen scooped my moody blue ass up and placed me firmly on my throne. Passenger princess mellowed a bit with the silky summer breeze caressing her cheeks through the cracked car window.

We cruised along the coast, to the dock/ burger joint where some kind of high-fashion photoshoot was taking place. A man with an Edward Scissorhand-esque head mop posed stoically against a white tiled sea facing wall. A pretty little waif smiled indulgently at me as I mansplained the scene: trailers and bottles of mineral water and umbrellas. This is high fashion, I lectured.

We saw a baby bulldog on an unleashed stroll and then a father aged man repeatedly trying to run and hop onto some kind of levitating electronic surfboard. In front of a small gathering of bemused millennial couples, he’d try, belly flop, get up, brave it again, belly flop, neti style nose rinse, repeat. At least ten times. There was absolutely no evidence of self-consciousness, self loathing or shame at any point of the long performance. I had found my newest expander.

After 20 or so minutes of dilly dally paddling my bare feet in the cool, salty, magnesium-rich water, I felt much better. Floating back to the sunbaked car, we passed a gorgeous silver-haired couple kissing and drinking cold white wine. I asked, as I always do, if we can please please be like that one day too.

Drove further up the coast and parked at the fancy little mall that’s partly open-air and has a luxury spa + gym where I got an excellent facial once. It’s one of those places that ignites fiery ambition in me - in that American, sparkler-under-your-bottom, bootstrappy- no-one-is-coming-to-save-you kind of a way.

Sometimes that feels good, I was reminded. Eckhart Toll House Cookie says something about the only thing worse than not getting what you want being getting what you want —but I will kindly decline that particular invitation to party poop-ery. Let me manifest my hearts many vapid desires in peace, thanks!

We stopped at my favorite restaurant in Denmark: Joe & The Juice. I will not feel shame about this. JATJ is a mecca for homesick wellness girlies abroad. They have lovely little things like lions mane and bright green matcha and excellent, excellent GF toast. The pilates princess aesthetic makes me feel better about not being a stony faced scandi cool girl who eats gluten in abundance and slinks around in low slung baggy jeans. It's okay to *be seen trying* at Joes. For one to be slightly neurotic about one’s nutrient intake in a pink cloud smoothie romanticize your orthorexia kind of way.

Deep in the recesses of my wallet, I found a gift card from my favorite nanny mummy with six juices left on it. Golden. Treated loverman to a child-style beverage (strawberry, banana, apple) and myself to some kind of lemon-drop milkshake which came highly recommended by the cherubic juicer on duty: organic whole milk, banana, vanilla, and lemon. Looked like buttery sunshine and tasted cute.

After outfitting my man (effortless + unemotional- oh the easy breezy male form), we wandered into one of my favorite shops: BAHNE. It’s all pastel trinkets and sweetness and inner little girly charm. I bought a sparkly hair clip and the perfect sunglasses—only 30 kr more than the awful, cheap, skull-crushing pair I refused to settle for at H&M. That felt like an important lesson in worthiness.

Things I purchased this week:

1. a tiny retro grill for meat-y meal prep and neighborly burger evenings.

2. a baby pool and paper lanterns for magical summer nights in the garden.

3. coquette powder-blue bedding and a tripod for my iPhone. I am creating something new.

To note: Old friends often describe me as sweet, wise, nurturing. The Madonna. Relics of my mask era.

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i am listening to WFUV on my tiny silver phone, hair freshly washed, watermelon slices on my bedside table.

radio reminds me of a home far away…

streaming live from new york: songs about middle states, country roads, and political unrest. i am sipping ceremonial cacao to gently thaw and release the years of crystalline repressed homesickness stored in my heart chakra.

it is not cool to miss america when you’re a girly abroad. but we all do.

working at a nørrebro coffee shop this last month

(liberated myself in time for my nation’s independence day)

i started to notice the expectation that my admission of u.s. citizenship be followed by an apology, a sheen of sweaty shame, a generous dash of self-loathing.

why don’t you just say you’re canadian?

was kindly offered more than once.

it’s something i’m used to.

i hail from two countries with cruel governments that are also full to the brim of juicy, complex, warm human citizens. i won’t apologize for my existence, or conflate fascist regimes (most of us) didn’t choose with the everyday person. oh the persons! the diamonds created under so much pressure + trauma. the lotuses rising from the shit. there’s something in the toxic fluorinated water that truly creates such personality, such deliciousness. such layered magnificence. i really love us.

nothing NOTHING makes you miss the beauty + hilarity of sweet, insane, boy-crazy, introspective, self aware, ever searching, ever self-improving, astrologically inclined, feral, fascinating american women + femmes quite like being surrounded by danish ones.

every time i made an iced oat latte for a ballayaged stanley toting tourist from new jersey, we’d exchange a knowing look, a skincare tip, a giggle, an anecdote, and i’d feel like begging them not to leave.

americans, please don’t leave me alone with the danes.

in my dream life, every 4th is spent at a glamorous bbq hosted by the u.s. embassy: sparklers aglow across the majestic lawn. or on someone’s back porch, surrounded by tinkling laughs and clinking glasses and an assortment of accents: twangs, drawls, lilts, new yorks.

instead, i am home, romanticizing the last bits of my hermit era like a dripping popsicle, dreaming about an east coast summer.

i immigrated to america when i was nearly two. from a small coastal city of liberal, neurotic jews to a small coastal town of liberal, neurotic jews.

in 1995, huntington village felt like a less homogeneous stars hollow: farmers markets, ducks in the pond, summer evening concerts in the park, a french bistro, red and blue slushies, the YMCA.

there was plenty of dysfunction in my childhood home. there was also sunday night pizza in the wisteria-draped pergola, disney channel on grandpa’s bed, the fireman’s fair, cotton candy ice cream truck pops, evening dips at the public beach, and a village full of artsy grownups who raised me. we bumped into them everywhere: the health food store, the indie cinema, the yoga studio, the synagogue.

my longing for america is like my longing for a big, happy, extended family. in the words of garden state, it’s for a place that doesn’t really exist. at least not like it used to.

but maybe all of us searching, traveling, dreamy hearted, wander lust-y yearning americans - abroad and at home - are united in that loneliness.

maybe we’ll make something beautiful out of it.

x

i write to you from a cozy sun spot in the early evening on a summery park bench in a tiny town on the outskirts of copenhagen, in denmark.

pondering:

1. the energetics of july 2026- …

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today is the longest day of the year. all of my bedding (cotton, silk) is hanging on the line outside. there’s something in the air. it’s good. i hope you feel it too.

today, after 10 hours of deep, dreamy sleep (social interaction recovery protocol), i stepped barefoot into the garden and fell into a long morning of: 1) dancing around in a little white frock, 2) sipping ambrosia, 3) slicing fruit into pretty shapes, and 4) taking multiple showers. it’s hot outside.

in a moment, i’ll return to making a big batch of summer sauce, pouring it over pasta, and chasing away the sunday scaries with:

taste: chilled chalices of sparkling mocktails
sight: twinkly speckles of dancing tree light
sound: clinking cutlery + this playlist.

there have been so many summer delights this weekend.

yesterday, we drove up the coast to a tiny fisherman town—now inhabited by millionaires. the ride was all soft beauty: purple flower fields, baby brown cows, grassy meadows, tiny cottages, the sea.

it was a family gathering. we grilled, drank alcohol-free lychee beers, and chatted passionately about high-masking female autism, sensitivity, sex and the city, new-age parents, and the unique experience of growing up middle-class, educated, and secretly poor.

the meal was perfect: charred. bright. fruit and veggie filled. we drove home feeling slightly sleepy, warm and fuzzy, sated in many ways. and since the rental car was good for another few hours, we stopped to: 1) take a little forest bath, 2) dip our toes in the harbor, and 3) sit in a tall lavender garden at the edge of the village and watch life go by, like two happy little old men.

back home, sitting in the yard as the sun set, we listened to three simultaneous parties + complained happily with our upstairs neighbor, then discussed mindset + career changes. they are in their twenties, we are in our thirties.

i want to feel like i am getting all the juice and nectar out of my youth, but i also loved bundling up later to watch a childhood movie, falling asleep under the cool duvet to the sound of deep breathing right next to me, the reveling shouts of the woozy non-monogamous just next door. pleased as punch, safe and sound, in my little nook.

there are so many ways to do a life, and i’m starting to worry less about doing it right.

i hope you enjoy these tunes! happy official start to the summer, my juicy peaches.

xx michal <3

i write to you in a state of soft sweetness + splendor. tree dance-y sunlight speckles dot my thick curtain, an afternoony ambrosia latte sits on the bedside table, i am wearing a white sundress.

we are precisely one third way through june. as per usual, i’d like to romanticize this month with a tiny wishlist and an intention to savor these longer, warmer days.

energetics + invocations + yummy wants for the fresh month ahead:

— so brand new—

• make an elderflower cordial ✿ 𓇢𓆸 go for a bloom walk + harvest as many flowers as possible during this precious short fragrant blossom window! use in lemonades, elixirs, + even maybe… alcoholic cocktails !

• eat peaches naked in bed - alongside ceremonial cacao sipped from my favorite chipped gilded teacup! whilst air drying from a late afternoon shower.

• delight in bare legged-ness. invest in body oils + butters + shimmer galore. aim to always smell nice. and appear dewy.

• yoga + forest walks and nothing else! thank you very much! how many steps today? who knows !! who cares !! replace pilates princess ambitions w floral feral femininity.

• suck nectar from honeysuckle bushes dotting beach path. suck marrow from every summery june night.

  

  

  

  

• summer solstice plans: dance around own small garden w other fairies in feverish midsummer splendor + eat lemon possets w tiny elegant spoons.

• buy paper lanterns + tea lights for the occasion

• wear white linen dresses (+ go braless) whenever appropriate (often)

• abundant embodiment: no need for journaling or mantras. abundance is in the air. generosity, celebratory dinners, gorgeous al fresco reading, sundried bedsheets. receiving. being the hostess with the mostest. trusting in the ebb and flow of money. like the ocean. °𓇼⋆ like a sea witch.

  

• listen to new(ish) iron + wine album ad nauseum. esp grace notes.

• sleep for 10 hours at least once a week (busy bee barista recovery protocol) then watch summery movies all day in breezy powder blue new cotton pajama set.

• trust in the resilience + flexibility of my body

• take a cool ocean dip

• fearless gratitude

• salt water rinse. repeat.

scroll on for some IRL june time relish-ment

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happy late may dear reader.

i type to you from my bedroom. the window is cracked open.

my neighbor’s backyard contains many tiny dancers.

a garden party.

i am wearing a darling white nighty because it’s so fucking hot.

and yet — it’s not summer. not quite yet.

perhaps it is the pagan within (or maybe the procrastinator — this SSS bulletin is, after all, several weeks late) but to me, until june 21st, we are in the meteorological summer pre-game season.

or as i like to call it deep spring.

everything is in powdery pink full bloom and soft purple glory. nature is thriving and shining, showing off her braggy best. and yet — there’s a gentleness. the sunlight isn’t blinding. the chirpy birdsong is mellow, the forest floors are comforted in beds of little white flowers.

i can’t think of anything more delicious.

so, buttercups and babes, let’s sync, infuse + celebrate springy sweetness and beauty, together.
♡♡♡

in today’s springtime wellness newsletter we will cover:

• a shower abundance ritual

• a beauty + wellness celebration + curation list

• a glow- inducing accupressure routine video

• spring cleaning reframed: less neurotic, more nourishing.

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okay girlypop! let’s set the mood. pour yourself a floral cordial / something infused with blooms, light a candle in a teacup, and press play on this mixtape.

i made it just for you.

springtime music magic:

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naturally, that very night, good news arrived in the form of a facebook message from a ukrainian angel expecting a baby and vacating her little spot in heaven on the outskirts of the city.

“it is beautiful,” she wrote, “and it has a little garden.”

my head filled with beatrix potter-esque bunnies and teacups and rows of perfect dirty vegetables: long sinewy carrots, pops of radish, miniature ears of corn.

the ugly american forgets that there is a richer, more perfect form of the english language — pre-colonial/50 states — where “backyard” is replaced with the infinitely more elegant “garden.”

there are no duties or shovels in my piece of cake yard (thank g-d), but there is: an apple blossom tree with its branches extending into my bedroom window, a plot of daisy-covered grass, wild strawberries and raspberries, lilacs, daffodils, and plenty of moss.

and a newly planted little herb garden too, which i am far too smug about.

in the springtime it is striking here. there is birdsong and overall, it just feels like the embodiment of true generosity. we pay a pittance (relatively), and as it’s our last year in this home, i am mindful to enjoy every moment of buttery yellow morning sunshine, every warm, fragrant breeze. the gratitude-laced privacy + privilege to sun my nether bits.

i should have probably started this letter with a more overflowing welcoming, hello again… and a sincere apology. but, while i am truly so happy to gather together, to write to you, i am trying not to feel guilty for falling off the face of the earth for a bit.

i have been swimming in: the loveliest, most nourishing + healing family vacation (new!) a busy bee barista job, a long ass cold, and, due to a tiny blue bottle beckoning “drink me”, the total release of ambition and hustle.

i felt i owed it to you, and most of all, to my kind generous, loving, small gathering of paid supporters, to write more often

but

i didn’t want to write from should or “consistency”

rather from a place of hello darling, would you like to partake in a slice of my yum?

so here we are.

the current yum:

a post deep nap afternoon shower. audiobook accompanied. a body air dried (with the gentle help of a new, turquoise turkish hamam towel). sky blue boxers (his) and a lovely lighter blue chunky cotton sweater from aerie (mine). a gargantuan repurposed jug containing a strawberry hibiscus cloud.

there isn’t a cloud in the sky. the light is dancing through the leaves, my brother is out on a business stroll, and soon he’ll come home and we’ll all share a giant bowl of pomegranate seeds and order rice paper rolls — which i always want to call spring rolls, because aren’t they? — from the local sushi joint.

for the first time in many, many years i am wearing little outfits again. linen, cotton. polka dots. short- yet flow-y. tanned legs. flushed, cream blush anointed cheeks. rosehip oil shine + gucci perfume. the intended vibe: neurodivergent french girl w. an impressive collection of small ceramic coffee cups.

the contours of my face are re-emerging. a jawline. cheekbones. hurrah! i subtly glimpse peeks of myself in shop windows and think- there she is, again.

i feel like the little butterfly in my daily iced coconut matcha. i take good care of my hair and feel comfortable at outdoor cafes and on park benches and regularly notice how the earth does indeed delight to feel + hold my arched bare feet.

what a difference a year makes.

i wanted to write something just now like “ the thing about no longer being the pupa/ chrysalis girl is once you have wings, you really have something to lose.”

but like, i don’t even want to put that out there.

bearing the sweetness, trusting, feeling worthy, basking in the honey tea sweetness of this moment- that’s the assignment.

later this week i’ll be sharing part two of my seasonal workshop for self-soothers and little delighters. i guess i’m really brimming over with niche wellness girly inspiration. we will jam + gem out on: deep springtime celebrations, floral rituals, bloom-based self-care, cleansing, calling in, romanticization.

but for now, i’ll sink a little deeper into this sun chair, read my noughties london novella — notting hell — and sip my pink girly drink.

life is so yum.

cheers!

welcome to the self soothery collective™

in this springtime collection of practices, plans, and pretty pictures—

deep nourishment, nuanced wellness musings, and soft, gentle, self-tending practices star on the menu.

for the bright, light, abundant season of blossoming + beyond.

part one:

• 1 inspired romanticize your spring bucket (hat) list

• self care for the girlies who loathe lighter days

• a somatic self soothing practice: blessings on your head !!

• an inspired collection of beneficial + delightful follicular phase (springtime) meal inspo

and more!!

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the self soothery is a cozy corner for body, mind + soul blessings- for the niche healing girlies.

serving up self tending rituals + wellness practices that feel nice

+ not like another *should* / to do.

we gather quarterly.

this quarter, we gather twice.

part two will be live in may.

let’s dive in/ frolic 🌸🧚🏽‍♀️ xx

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i write to you as a satisfyingly cool DIY milk + honey facemask dries on my visage, and spring showers gently sprinkle my garden beyond. candles glow along the windowsills. it is friday!

i truly did not intend to let two whole weeks slip by before writing you again (& if you missed my last love letter- here she is-perhaps a touch too niche)

…but this spring equinox ostara portal f*cking knocked me out. lots of *upleveling* energetics. seeing patterns, meeting challenges, odd, lingering colds (read: ascension symptoms) and of course, lots of magic + glimmers sprinkled throughout.

the thing that i’m finding most surprising about the dawning of spring this year, is that i’m actually enjoying it. for the first time in a decade i feel aligned with the energy of this brighter lighter season.

when you’re in functional freeze, it is perpetual winter. cold + cozy feels most safe. yet somehow, without fully noticing it, i’ve been gently thawing.

now its april, and i am ready to bloom!

speaking of april, we have completed q1 of 2026! mazel!

2026, a year that promised rapid forward momentum, gratifying growth, abundant physical manifestations. for me, that first quarter was all about shedding + sourcing energy through ample rest, tears + tiny comforts. now it is time to spring forward! i hope! and also! fear! :)

some small things of great delight lately:

countertop radishes: these little rooted crucifers now live in a jar on my counter, at all times. freshly plucked from the market, they are pretty and pink and slightly offensive, yet always inviting. favorite ways to eat them: on sourdough w. avocado + everything sprinkles. also alongside french butter + flaky seasalt. sometimes: drenched in lemon and olive oil, as they hot magenta tiedye an herby marinated potato salad, (gr8 4 picnics). fairy food.

lavender lemonade: whimsy tea steeped overnight. sometimes in the light of the moon. next to a smoky quartz. a deep infusion. cooled thoroughly (important!) then mixed with raw local honey ( 2 best retain magical benefits+ healing properties) with tons of freshly squeezed lemon juice. lots of ice. an edible flower or two. a true fairy drink/ libation.

fairy medicine: when i was a little girl i spoke to the faeries every day. i wrote letters to them, they wrote me back. fae were my safe place, my little ventral anchors (if you will). i immersed myself in the lifelike pages of a midsummer night’s faery tale, willing my tiny body to simply ascend and float/ fly away to the forest of old oak wood, where i would frolic with sneezle.

my walls were covered with little winged nymphs donning buttercup hats + purple petal shaped caps. turns out, i wasn’t the only one, and sweet youtubers like Maya remind me of this gentle magic, inviting me to reconnect with the ethereal realms/ the rosy wholesome glee of my inner little girl in daily grownup life.

in other news °❀.ೃ࿔*

(occasionally) leaving my hermit shell has been less awful than expected.

magical moments outside of the nest- of late:

1. went to the local apotek to pick up meds + magnesium. on my way out, the pharmacist hollered (experimentally) -in a sweet melodic semitic/danish accent- have a good one! i was so touched! what an adorable little americanism. where did she pick this one up? how long had she waited, patiently, deep in lily white scandinavian suburbia, to utter those words, try ‘em out on some unassuming usa presenting customer? i was delighted, tickled pink. happythankyoumoreplease.

2. paul simon carried on a spring breeze, blasting out of a cracked open wide window.

   A (wo)man walks down the street…

   doesn’t speak the language…

   holds no currency…

   s)he looks around, around
   (s)he sees angels in the architecture
   Spinning in infinity
   (s)he says, “Amen!” and “Hallelujah!”

3. friction, rupture, then repair. advocating for myself in many human interactions ranging from the mundane (cheeky man at healthfood store) to the ultra personal (blood, familial). soft boundaries (that i actually, truly, for the first time in my adult life, believe my precious little self worthy of). feeling the terror, then remembering: i am here for myself.

4. exiting a long, dark, death cycle and moving into birth.

psssst. hello you beauty! did you know that for the price of one cup of chamomile tea, you can join this cozy coven of complex, chronically healing/ self improving/ romanticizing/ whimsical witchy cuties + (deeply support me & my work!) therein, we can muse and blossom and chat together!

i am running an ostara ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ spring special𓍢ִ໋˖˚ this month, until april 22nd.

22% off for forever! less than 4 doll-hairs a month from now on to infinity! wow!

*infinity is non- binding. you can cancel or pauze at any time!

as a cozy + complex coven member you will also :

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🧚🏻₊˚ʚ 🪷 ₊˚ have access 2 special exclusive paid tier only articles —created specifically for my nearest and dearest + safest: the odd lil baddies who get it. niche wellness collections / diary entries galore!

𓂃🪶 lots of deep magic + healing gems gleaned on my journey back to wholeness + vibrancy. more personal insights + tips and tricks + richer gifts + gold nuggets !! also, access to members only love letters in soft spoken audio format, secret podcast episodes and…

⋆.˚🪻༘⋆perhaps most nourishing of all, my seasonal self soothery newsletters (spring editorial airing next week!!) these R jam packed w. tools to thrive in summer, autumn, winter, and spring!

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in more good news!

i have been ever softer & nicer to myself in this liminal dreamy unintended ✨unemployment era ✨ i find myself in. filling the abundant space & time of in-between-ness with joy, plenty o’ pleasure, whimsy, inner child fun. not punishment. gentle structure + lots of romance. painted myself a plan this moonday. see below:

i have been sipping cacao and crying to this song. catharsis.

other things I have been loving:

2000s yoga mom aesthetic + interiors, drinking rose petal tea & filling my french press with fairy flower infusions, pastel clothing + food + paint, soaking up every moment of gracious sunshine— covering my sun chair with duvets, furry blankets, favorite pillows. earthing while moving my hips intuitively + sipping cacao. *sunning* myself. ;) if you know, you know.

i write to you with a very sore wrist (pillow catharsis induced) in a cloud of herbal-scented softness. it is friday night, and my hair is soaking in rosemary-infused batana oil, drenched from root to tip (am i doing this right?) in vitamin e deep conditioner-y. limitless growth + head turning shine is on the horizon.

in so many ways, on this sabbath eve, i have never been farther away from the roots, blood + traditions of my ancestors. i am uterus deep in aryan land, nary a temple in sight, electricity buzzing in every corner.

in one small, sacred way though, i am sweetly tethered. combing through my ringlets, massaging my scalp, i remember that nearly one century ago, my grandmother’s hair smelled like this on fridays too. her mother soaking freshly picked rosemary twigs from the garden in olive oil, combing the miracle elixir through her little girl’s curls. a symbolic bath. a white linen dress.

it is nearly sunset, and i am home alone. an aerie groutfit, my sabbath’s best. i have just lit the shabbos candles, one eye peeled for the neighborhood sushi joint’s delivery lady. instinctually, i hide my religious practice, unsure if the head-bowed chanting before tiny flames would spook her. is this a past-life witch wound regression or epigenetic holocaust attic stored survival stress?

¯_(ツ)_/¯

lolz.

my kiddish wine is the last sip of ceremonial cacao, earthy and sweet, the raw honey has settled at the bottom. we take what we like and we leave the rest. makeshift moments with the creator.

i have left the wooden cages, the partitions, the shamefully long skirts. i long for the easy, the wordless, the ancient connection. the belonging. the braided bread. the knowing laughs about parental guilt and ubiquitous ibs.

i once contemplated making a podcast for jewitches like myself, with the tagline reading “4 wellness girlies thriving in the diaspora,” but figured it was a bit too niche. also, my geopolitical p.o.v. + programming has transformed since then. now, i feel that perhaps everywhere but pleiades is the real diaspora.

to accompany my special sushi dinner, i am making a big pot of miso. the seaweed (wakame) has been soaking on my countertop all afternoon, floating in water like a magical subaquatic deep sea scene of sorts. i am the head mermaid in charge. to live underwater for more than a month.

i am also the proud hostess of a solo slumber party for one, as my blonder half is spending the weekend flying, parachuting. pray for me, and my desperately jewish tummy. i send him positive thoughts + protections of light approximately one million times per hour in seemingly futile attempts to quell my anxiety. this is my task: to love my most precious person and to let him be free.

tonight my inner little girl and i will be watching 2000s romcom movies, making lemon-lime soda pop from scratch (coconut sugar sweetened ofc) and feeling the feelings of not really liking being home alone. it’s funny because i’m only this needy in denmark, and maybe that’s the medicine of this place.

to meet the void, to greet her. befriending the emptiness. filling it with flowers. with seaweed.

in my new made up version of bibliomancy, i take myself on little strolls to the local lending library to see which free book *pulls* me in, calls to me. what deeper hidden message beckons from the spirit realm, awaiting me in the poppiest of prose.

two this month: the girl on the train by paula hawkins and the guest by emma cline. both delicious. property porn, patriarchy, youth as currency, etc. however, the real common theme seems to be: long days spent waiting for your man to come home. which, is also the title of my autobiography/ the theme of my life at the moment. i’m not proud. i am nothing if not a husband’s girl.

when we moved into this apartment, i conducted all the essential baby witch new dwelling orders of business. i sprinkled the floor with salt and let the little crystals sit for seven days and seven nights, absorbing ghosts, before vacuuming them away. a clearing. i smudged and clapped in every corner, i let odd sounds emanate from the depths of my diaphragm, intuitively led shamanic singing, diy sound medicine. i dispelled the old, making space for something new. for our own story to emerge.

it’s funny though, the energy of a home. some things stick, i suppose. the 24 y.o. who moved in was a ❀˖girlboss˖❀ intent on independence, with plans to take the copenhagen wellness scene by storm. the pearl created, in this little hermitage of sorts, with much friction + time, is an underemployed tradwife, full-time barefoot + pining.

a few months after moving in, with above self-identity already mid-metamorphosis, the midwife neighbor upstairs told me about the couple who lived here before. their bed was in the same spot as ours. he worked every day, long hours at the UN (or such similar). she stayed at home.

every morning, she woke up, made a coffee, called her mom, and patiently waited for 7 hours, until 5 pm, when she would run to the end of the driveway, leap into her husband’s briefcase encumbered arms. entwined and carried, she returned here. poised for the fun of the day to finally begin.

i’m a bit more reserved (capricorn), but not unlike my predecessor, i often find myself peering at the clock, eagerly counting down moments until my man’s return home.

okay, four more hours. i can do some yoga, make granola, put my face in the sun, and then he’ll be here and my happiness can commence. it’s like living for the weekends. really, i need a job.

i applied for a barista position at the local art museum and have every finger and toe of my entire being crossed that i hear back. in pre-nap daydreams, i envision myself walking through the forest every day to get there, jane birkin basket in toe, tendrils in woven braids.

8 hours spent serving fluorescent matcha to unhurried individuals in black turtlenecks and thick-rimmed glasses. slow spots in the afternoon staring out of cool, metallic, floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

lush limitless greenery ahead. little wonders like having human conversations not solely via screen. i will keep you posted. i also applied to a gig in a taco truck, but smelling like deep fryer feels like the less aligned option for this pufa-reticent princess.

i’ll head off now, darlings. time to wash my hair in the sink, a friday -freja’s day- venusian ritual. i am newly allergic to each and every shampoo and conditioner on the god-given market. unclear as 2 why. i can’t let the suds touch my skin or i get a red smattering of hives. so, it’s either kitchen sink head dunks with the nice stuff or spartan standing dish soap showers for me. naturally, i have opted for the former.

actually, it’s really lovely. i light up a little fairy cigarette (velvet roots) make a spot of tea, listen to wfuv radio (streaming live from new york), and yearn for a place that doesn’t really exist anymore, at least not like it used to.

i light lots of candles too. the water pressure is divine, and i’ve realized that this is actually the best bit of my favorite religious experience: beauty salon hair washes. it is not just the chatty asmr scalp massage, it is the heavy water pressure too. just as the lord intended. i emerge squeaky clean, antennae cleared. outlook brand new. spiritually pure. my own little shabbos mikveh.

i hope you have the coziest little weekend, dear reader. i hope you will be really nice to yourself + that you’ll have some good, clean, soft, sweet fun.

LYLAS,

michal x