How to Waste a Morning

I need to get to work. I took the day off today with the idea that I would spend it doing homework, but instead, all I've been able to do is lie on the couch in my flannel nighty (square necked snowflake pattern c no buttons--I hate buttons--from the Vermont Country Store Catalog) reading the New Yorker and googling information about Santa Muerte.
I read a Charles de Lint story this morning (I've been useless, I tell you) called Small Deaths. I really like Charles de Lint, but sometimes his writing leaves me with sort of a headache--like I've eaten too much cheap candy. Like Edmund eating the witch's turkish delight. Some of his stories are wonderful, and I love the urban American psyche he excavates for material. There is a lot of magic in the streets, white and black. And reading him, sometimes, that part of me that ran away in Atlanta wakes up and wants to go walking again, following my nose through the alleys. But sometimes....
Well, in this story, a well-dressed man comes up to a woman in a cafe. She thinks he's hitting on her and rebuffs him. He warns her, "don't mock me, for I am the bringer of the small death" or something like that. Then the idea doesn't really develop. But what an idea.
Santa Muerte is thought to be associated with Oya, the santeria goddess of wind, storms, change. Oya is the mistress of Chango. There's a really funny Cuban song about Chango--how this American tourist thinks an altar to Chango is a buffet, eats the fruit offering and really pisses the god off. I used to hear it all the time in Miami. In fact, laughing out loud at that song one night while I was driving in the car by myself to boxing match in Hialeah was my first indication that I was finally understanding spanish. Reading about Santa Muerte made me want to hear that song, so I went to www.playlist.com and looked for it. I didn't find it, but I did find this great group called King Chango and another one called the Brooklyn Artists. I put their songs on speaker, cha-cha'd around the living room a little while. Thought about Miami. Thought about Xavier. Santa Muerte. Chango. Both love and shelter prisoners. I hope he is all right.
I've had my dance with Santa Muerte myself, recently, as a handmaiden. Always, but this particular go round really has taken it out of me.
I hope I am not like that tourist, taking the offerings, eating the food, but not understanding their meaning. Not understanding or anticipating what I am invoking. I am afraid that many times and in many situations, I do not know what to take seriously and what to leave lie. Buddha touches the ground to withstand Mara. But it is also root his heart to the earth, I think.
Random musings. I'm going to go sit now. Lilly's at the mall.
That's my 1/2 hour.