My witch crock is full of sudsy water, so you know what that means: TIME TO CLEAN THE FUCK OUTTA SOMETHING!

This wall-hanging shelf thingy to be less than exact! I gave this thing a good ol’ scrub down and decided to spray paint it.

And this is where I start laughing at myself and the universe and my relationship to it and placement in it run on sentence. Because I’m out on the back patio of Wit’s End, spray painting this sucker matte black and I start to notice all the random elements that have assembled themselves for this particular project.

I’m spray painting it under the light of the waning moon, in the spot one of our pets died, on a table that belonged to my Great Grandpa, on which I’ve laid down newspaper (the obits), surrounded by fucking spiders.