My stepfather finished what he was doing and is dead.

The things I have to say are inflammatory in some circles.  So I’ll just not, for right now.  

“I heard a banshee last night. I wonder if there’s any connection?”

“Change,” Luke said. “They mean things are changing and they wail for what’s being lost.”

“Death. They mean death, don’t they?”

“Not always. Sometimes they just show up at turning points for dramatic effect.”

–Roger Zelazny, Sign of Chaos

My stepfather is in his last hours.  It’s for the best, and it’s sad, and it’s sad that it’s for the best.  And there’s a horde of regret that I have on his behalf, partly because he hasn’t the facility to have it himself any more, partly because he never did have the judgement to do so.

Work has seen personnel fluctuations that have a significant impact on my life.  The intensity has risen to a painful height, but the results should be a more pleasant and sustainable work place.

Illness has moved into the household and taken up rooms with the obvious intent to stay a while.  We are improving, but it’s slow.

I am about two weeks of Fast Drafting to the end of my first draft; I have been for three weeks, but haven’t the energy to take it up.  I carry Jarvis everywhere in hopes that I’ll come to it.  So far I can barely read for entertainment, let alone write.

I have taken up new projects that have every prospect of opening up new opportunities and changing our lives for the better, leaving more time to write and rest and be happy.  It isn’t clear where the time or energy will come from to pursue these projects, but the groundwork is laid for them.

Slow down, Kali Ma; the banshees can’t keep time when you dance this fast.

In which Our Hero finds he is not above petty tit-for-tat behaviors, and in which a stranger passive-aggressively masturbates at him. (more…)