TKOG Who casts a spell on you

Over on Secret Society of List Addicts, a list of reasons I’m friggin’ psyched to be living alone. (She said, blasting showtunes and lounging naked.)

NTKOG #150: The kind of Hot Topic frequent buyer who — like the B-plot in a mid-’90s sci-fi romp — lays her personal dilemmas in the able typing fingers of a for-rent techno-pagan.

I am: over my eighth-grade Wiccan phase. Although my marching band flute cleaner did make an excellent ceremonial wand.

I am not: discounting the mysterious powers of the universe. But somehow doubt said MPs registered the domain name spells4free.com.

The Scene: My bedroom, like the first few moments of a of a cheesy horror flick, where TKOG is a sleeping confit, slowly poaching in her own sweat. A twitch, a sleeping grimace, and — aaaaaaahh! Jerked awake by another screaming nightmare.

As though of you fortunate enough not to have shared a bed with me might not know, I’ve been screaming myself awake intermittently for years now. And those are on the good nights. The rest of the time, I am locked in a vivid coffin of the grotesque, the irrational, all the shame and grief and regret that sleep is supposed to be our reward for suffering through days filled with. Different dreams, but all stemming from the same deep root in my brain.

Things weren’t so bad when The Ex and I had a nightly routine (you were too good to me, sweetness!) but living on my own, my nights had been dominated by insomnia that grew from a fear of sleep. Once I’d exhausted all the cures within my price range (anyone know a cut-rate hypnotherapist?), I turned to the improbable: spells4free, where a budget high priestess named Doris vowed she could solve any problem with a quick hit of the cosmic.

I donned my most ceremonial sweatpants while emailing — per Doris’s request — the most thorough summary of my problem I could muster. And included some leitmotifs and shit, in case pagan dudes love that jazz as much as writerly dudes.

An hour later, High Priestess Doris emailed to let me know she’d penciled my spell into her busy schedule. Furthermore, would I be interested in buying her ebook?

Regret to inform I could perceive no palpable shift in the cosmos when she emailed a day later to inform me my spell had been cast; attached to the email was a suggested ritual to summon the spirit of Gjoub, consisting mainly of floating candles, cinnamon incense, and some Crowley-approved calisthenics. But I left all my centerpiece-making supplies in California and didn’t want to tax my bad shoulder, so I figured I’d chance it.

The Verdict: What do you friggin’ know. By the time I write this, a month and a half later, I haven’t had a single nightmare. I — I don’t know what to say. Placebo effect? The therapeutic power of finally admitting the depth of my night terrors? Good ol’ High Priestess Doris just working her mad mojo? Though lately some of the old symbols have started cropping up, I’ll admit, in innocuous dreamy ways. Might be time to reach out to Gjoub after all, if he’s willing to settle for whatever incense they sell at the convenience store.

Never doubt the infinite potential of the universe, is what I think I’m saying. And if you need a decent spell cast, go ahead and hit up my pal Doris. Just don’t tell her I sent you. I don’t want to admit I didn’t buy the ebook.

Tagged as: mysteries of the universe, pretty dubious recommendations, questionable conduct, recurring nightmares, sleeping, the one thing i can say for sleep disorders is that they help you stop taking shit for granted, totally not hating on wiccans (i love your shoes!)