Capricorn

Capricorn. Sit down, my child. I said sit. You haven’t put your feet up since Lent and I can hear the soles of your shoes from Long Branch. Listen — there’s an errand on your list that’s been there three weeks. The dry cleaner. The oil change. The email to the cousin you don’t even like. Let one of them die. Just one. The Monday will not collapse. The building stands. I lit a candle to Saint Joseph at the folding table this morning — quiet man, quiet work, knew when to put the hammer down — and I asked him to whisper something useful into your left ear around three o’clock. Listen for it, sweet thing. Rest is not weakness. Rest is maintenance. Go in peace, sinner.