6:50am: It’s unnaturally cold, so dragging myself out of bed at this hour is especially annoying. But it’s the one day a week I try to wake for the sunrise, so in five minutes I’m shooing cats away from the door as I step outside, wrapping a cloak around me and grumbling under my breath, which I can see in the air in front of me. I wait until I reach the hill nearby before pulling up my pipe, fairly certain none of the neighbors will spy me listening to birdsong, watching the first rays climb out of the darkness.
12:04pm: Ten minutes in the middle of the day is just enough meditation and marijuana time to get me through my next couple hours of work. Not every smoke is a spiritual one, but this one makes me feel light and full of air.
9:17pm: Today I pray to a goddess of veils. I take a slow draw from a small bong, and sit back on the meditation pillow at the foot of my altar. I think about the mist rolling over the mountains and into the valley at sunrise, the way it envelopes the landscape, like smoke rolling into my lungs, settling low into my body, hugging my curves like foothills. She pulls the veil back from before my eyes and I quiet my mind, letting her voice fade in and out of focus.
10:56pm: Monday, moon day. After a day of catching up on emails, writing pitches, cleaning the house and getting a start on the week’s work, I’m ready to crash. Before rolling over and falling asleep, though, I take a moment to breathe, smoke curling from my lips and up toward the window from where I sit in my bed, the moon creeping lower in the sky and lighting up my room. This evening ritual is vital: sweet smoke, candlelight, a cup of hot honeybush tea, and a good book. Before I settle into the covers to read, I pull out the small rosary hanging by my bedside. The knots slide through my fingers as I gaze up. She changes everything she touches, everything she touches changes. Change us, touch us. Touch us, change us.
1:32pm: Today the cold is getting to me. My joints start to ache and I pull the covers over my head one too many times in the morning (and okay, let’s be real, the afternoon too). All I want to do is stay in bed and binge-watch Law & Order SVU while reading along with Carmen Maria Machado’s novella, “Especially Heinous.” But Tuesday is Mars’ day, the Roman god of war, and so I get up, take a hoot off my hash pipe, and pack my gym bag.
2:23pm: The pool is, of course, frigid, but I plug in my mp3 player and hop in anyway. My pre-gym smoke numbs the shock and soon my heart is pumping along with the beats. Work it!
9:12am: Wednesday is Mercury’s day, so I want to focus as much energy as possible on my craft. There is already a tray of CBD-heavy medicated cookies in the oven, I’ve eaten breakfast and am sipping tea, watching last night’s Daily Show. I need my head to stay clear.
9:35am: Cooked and cooled, I grab a couple edibles for afternoon pain relief—working at a desk all day has its drawbacks, even if that desk is in my bedroom—and I lock myself in with a book of creative writing exercises and my internet off. O Muses, O immortal Nine!
10:44am: Plant magic is powerful. Even without imbibing, I can feel the plant in my veins, soothing sore muscles, calming raw nerves. The gym is packed, so I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths before wiggling my way into the weight room. Thursday is Thor day, Jupiter’s realm. Mind over matter, big picture thinking. Lord of Lightning, light a fire under my ass.
11:11am: I love when I catch the clock at just the right time. Longing for a day off, I head to a hotel with my partner, a hash pipe, and a few bathtub toys. Venus is in the air, and in the sheets. The jacuzzi makes a terrible humming noise but we don’t mind. We crank the music louder, breathe in deeper, and forget all our worries. Come to me, intoxicating lady.
11:11pm: Skin so soft, smoke so smooth. Fridays are my days to revel in everything good, so I’m full. Full of good food, and drinks, full of fuzzy feelings, and full of love. Just as it should be.
7:10am: Saturday, Saturn’s day is about structure. I sit down at my desk, pull down my day planner, and take a quick hit from the pipe while I start penciling things in.
4:22pm: The intricate lines of the sigil wrap their way around the bud, crackling red, then black, then grey as the joint burns between my fingers. A new week is coming, new goals are on the horizon. I’ve set my sights and we’re taking off. Grandmother, grant me wisdom, give me grace.
9:47pm: Back in bed. Books by candlelight, sweet milky tea, one last smoky breath before it all begins again.
Max is a witch, a wanderer, and sometimes, a writer. They live in a valley with one man, two cats, and more tarot decks than they can count, which is probably too many tarot decks.