gullyfoyle

I have not slept in three or four nights and my insurance actually is trying to kill me, but theseatheseatheopensea makes a gorgeous case for Hugo Fregonese's The Raid (1954) in the August issue of Edición Sunset and Widow's Bay (2026–) swept its categories at the Emmys. I'd have been even happier with it on CD, but it may mark some kind of flashover in my relationship to Doctor Who that I have just spent a wistful half-hour listening to Gardens of the Dead (2015). The blue of the sky has blown off into fall.

My poem "The Walls" has been accepted by Not One of Us. It is my first poem in six months and was finished in the waiting room of a doctor's office; it was suggested by a marsh fort and a bog mummy. Earlier this afternoon nineweaving found me a scholarly vote for the labyrinth.

rushthatspeaks and I did the second night of Rosh Hashanah with my parents. Even allowing for an unplanned seltzer-and-cider run when it was discovered that there was nothing to drink in the house, it was low-key, important to the wheel of the year. We roasted the traditional chicken with lemon and rosemary and had ordered our round challah from Mamaleh's, though the honeycakes as always are our own. Hestia was fed with new year's chicken as soon as I got home, purring mightily atop the washing machine.

I could not think of anything to say about the twenty-five years since 9/11 that I had not said at ten years or twenty or any time I am reminded of my griefless country. It had the unreality of watching the world wrench, then again eighteen months later when the forever wars rolled out and on and on. It is not that I pretend the first nineteen years of my life were paradisiacal, but too much since then never needed to happen. The reluctance to be part of remembering is not good for my relationship to history.

Since so much of modern American medicine resembles endurance hunting, after pursuing a prescription through two prior authorizations and four pharmacies I have finally succeeded in bringing down five-sevenths of it, which is much more than I had before last night and almost as much as I need. If I succeed in completing this course, I feel I should get rock art to commemorate it.

As spatch has continued showing me the Fifth Doctor, we've just rolled from Snakedance (1983) into Mawdryn Undead (1983) and while the emotional continuity has been worth commenting on, no one should look surprised by how much I like the triple-threat trash fire of Turlough.

L'shanah tovah! After midnight I saw a meteor streak across the Great Square of Pegasus. Much of my day before then was spent medically, but we made the honeycakes. A sweet, a safe year above all.