The Good Life

Three years after the onset of my chronic illness, I realized it was up to me to manage my condition. And what better way to take control than through the practice of chaos magick? In no time at all, I began sleeping better, which helped with the brain fog and whatnot; but, my heart rate still hovered around 160 bpm, and the loneliness remained unabated. 

So, I created a sigil tied to the intention, “I am healthy and at peace.” 

Who would have imagined I’d wake up this morning at the farmers’ market, sitting contentedly within the kohlrabi bin? I’ll admit, I am a fine specimen, fit as a fiddlestick; and, there’s little to fret over as a card-carrying member of the cabbage family. 

A beneficent figure approaches, blocking the glare of the sun. Her bracelets jangle as she rifles through the bin. I then feel a gentle pressure upon me.

Well, how do you do? I think to myself as I’m lifted and carefully placed into a well-used reusable tote.

At last, rather than rotting in my bed, I get to live out the rest of my days with this lovely hippy-dippy lady who reeks of patchouli. Sure, she’ll cut me into slices and slather me in Bitchin’ Sauce; but, after years of frustration, I’ll have, at last, fulfilled my destiny—bringing joy to someone capable of seeing me as I am.