things to stay quiet with her, but for now, she's in a place of love, safety, and newborn snuggles.
Tonight, my girls are happy. And that fills my heart in ways I didn't think were possible. I know I didn't volunteer for this. But I'm thanking you anyhow.
We're delighted to hear of all the joy in Witch Central yesterday - it sounds positively contagious. Melvin and I might have caught a small case of it as well. Spirits shining brightly are always worth celebrating.
I trust you already know that when chains are tossed in the air, some land back on the shoulders that gave them a heave. And I trust that your marvelous team will be ready, buoyed by the shared love of glitter and new babies. It is a glorious thing how that team has grown, and one for which you don't take nearly enough credit. Building community has always been one of your most special talents.
Remember what a gift that is when those chains land. And remember the joy. Melvin is quite sure you have pictures to remind you.
Blessed be,
Vero
Lauren was really glad she was on her second cup of coffee. She could hear Lizard's panicked, blazing anger from a block away. Assistants in crisis required way more than one dose of caffeine.
Pushing the new-listings folder aside, she battened down her mental hatches and prepared for the fireball about to blow into her office.
Lizard stormed through the door, doing a pretty good imitation of a fire witch. "They won't let me drop the class. Crappy fracking regulations - I just started yesterday. How was I supposed to know it was the stupidest class ever until I saw the assignment list?"
Generally Lauren wasn't all that fond of bureaucracy, but apparently it was on her team this time. "What class are you trying to drop?"
"Advanced poetry seminar. I can't do it. Not gonna happen."
Now Lauren could feel the fear. And the longing. "I thought you got invited to take that class. Professors don't do that unless they think you can do the work."
"No way." Lizard yanked a sheaf of crumpled paper out of her backpack and threw it down on the desk. "It's supposed to be a class about poetry. Other people's poetry. I'm supposed to write essays about dead-poet crap. Not a freaking personal journal."
Lauren read the assignment sheet. Fifty percent of the grade for keeping a personal poetry journal. She closed her eyes, borrowing a few choice words from Lizard's vocabulary - and tried to remember what Jennie had said about treating Lizard like an adult. "You don't want to write a few poems?"
"For someone else to read?" Her assistant stomped around the room - totally oblivious to the fact that her private poetry life had just been acknowledged. "Do you know what people do when they read poetry? They try to figure out what was going on in the poet's head, and how they felt, and if they're a totally screwed-up idiot or whatever. It's like being naked, only a thousand times worse."
Lauren was no stranger to crux points in negotiations. Or in wanting to keep your inner life away from onlookers. She wished briefly for a third cup of coffee and dove in. "But you write them."
Lizard froze in mid-step. Which would have been funny if her face weren't sheathed in pure terror.
You love words. Lauren mindspoke as gently as she could. It's not a huge stretch.
Lizard crumpled. "Yeah. In private. For nobody else. Ever."
Lauren breathed, well aware how much trust was involved in those few short words. Her assistant might think the biggest battle was coming. Lauren was sure it was over. Lizard wrote poetry and was willing to say so. The rest of the details could be negotiated - she hoped. "So ask the professor for your journal to stay private."
"Huh?" Lizard's eyes nearly crossed. "You have to turn it in every week - it says right there on the sheet."
For someone with a pretty delinquent past, her assistant had a really odd respect for things written down on paper. Lauren reached for the new-listings folder on the side of her desk, grabbed