I don’t know when my morning commute turned into an armory run, but here we are.

Some people find pennies on the sidewalk. Others find feathers, “signs from the universe,” or if they’re especially curated heart-shaped rocks. I, apparently, find weapons. Not metaphorical ones. Actual, honest-to-goodness, sharpened pieces of wood. Stakes. Spikes. Buffy-the-Vampire-Slayer-core.

At first, I thought that this is a coincidence. New York is weird. The Bronx is creative. Wood breaks. Life happens.

But then it kept happening.

Same walk. Same general route. Different days. Different spikes. Each one perfectly pointy. Suspiciously pointy. Like someone or something is out here whittling in the shadows thinking, “Yes. This will do nicely for vampire dispatch.”

And I’m just collecting them like a suburban survivalist with a therapist’s license.

So now, naturally, I have questions.

Am I being recruited? Is this a soft launch into my second act as a slayer? Because honestly, I did not get the memo. There was no onboarding packet. No benefits overview. No “Welcome to the Night Shift, Mimi” email.

Also, who exactly am I supposed to be slaying?

Because if we’re talking literal vampires, I’d like to request a different commute. Maybe something with better lighting and fewer existential undertones.

But if we’re talking metaphorical vampires, well. Now we’re getting warmer.

Energy vampires. Time vampires. The “just circling back” email vampires. The people who want a piece of you at 8:42am before you’ve even had coffee. The systems that quietly drain you while smiling politely and cc’ing everyone.

Now those I recognize.

So maybe the universe isn’t asking me to go full Buffy. Maybe it’s just nudging. A little cosmic nudge wrapped in splintery wood.

“Here,” it seems to be saying. “You might need this. Not for bloodsuckers with capes but for the everyday slow leaks. The things that nibble at your boundaries. The habits that quietly erode your sanity.”

And listen, I don’t love the delivery method. It feels aggressive. A bit on-the-nose. Also mildly unsafe to carry in a tote bag.

But I appreciate the sentiment.

Because there is something oddly empowering about walking into your day thinking that I am armed. Not in a literal, HR-violating way but in a psychic, energetic, no-nonsense kind of way.

So now when I see one of these little wooden harbingers on the sidewalk, I don’t question it as much.

I pick it up. I smirk. I keep walking.

Because maybe I’m not being asked to slay anything dramatic.

Maybe I’m just being reminded on my very ordinary walk to work that I’m allowed to protect my energy like it matters.

And if that reminder happens to look like something straight out of Buffy?

Well.

I’ve always appreciated a good prop.