In the chaos, the Sturm und Drang, the anger and depression and resignation, the scramble and desperation, the sheer wall of stupefying bullshit that has ensued since Sunday night, I've found myself with little energy left over for the blog. And it's a shame, as April 14th does, truly, mark it's conclusion as a day-to-day journal. Hence, no entry yesterday or the day before. Anyway, I'm gonna spend half an hour or so on a quick and entirely insufficient synopsis:

1. Yesterday, we drove up towards Boston, to Mount Auburn Cemetery, which is, technically, in Watertown and Cambridge. Research for the final chapter of Cherry Bomb. Scouting locations, as I think of that sort of work. We were met there by sovay, whom I'd somehow managed not to see, face to face, since Readercon 23 in July 2012. The day was just warm enough to feel decent. The sky was overcast when we left Providence, but it cleared just about the time we arrived in the Boston area. There was a great deal of traffic chaos, because the funeral of Lt. Edward Walsh, the 43-year-old firefighter who lost his life in last week's nine-alarm fire in Back Bay. More than 10,000 firefighters from around the country, and bagpipers everywhere. We spent a couple of hours in the cemetery, climbing hills, getting our shoes muddy, reading names. Spooky found an owl pellet. I have many wonderful photographs, but I don't have time to edit and post them just now. Maybe tomorrow. We were back home by about 7 p.m., and there were gyros for dinner. It was a good day.

2. Beginning Tuesday, I've started posting photos on Facebook * of the Me of Then, pre-1990, trying to fill in my missing past. My thanks to everyone who has been supportive of what must seem like a peculiar undertaking, indeed. But, when I transitioned, the attitude of many people whom I looked to for advice was to bury my past. And I did, to the point that much was lost. It was idiotic advice, though, and two and a half decades later I'm putting it back together. Transgender people should not ever be made to feel as if they have to erase who they once were to validate who they will become. I'm sick of regret, and the me of then is not a threat to the me of now. Any "threat" was always a lie. Anyway, if you're interested, have a look. My account is private, to keep out the trolls, so you'll have to request that I befriend you. I might eventually post some of the photos here. Currently, there's one from 1982, one from 1983, and one from 1989.

3. The days are warmer. High fifties, maybe low sixties Fahrenheit. There will be a ten-degree dip tomorrow, but then we're promised the warmth will be right back. A shame I'm mostly having to waste it in this room at this fucking computer. I had a plan to flee to Alabama and my mother's spare room for a week or two, where I could edit Beneath the Oil-Dark Sea in greater comfort. Now, those plans have been shelved for at least a week or two.

4. On Saturday, we made a matinée of Wes Anderson's Grand Budapest Hotel at the Avon, and it was splendid, though I think I need to see it again to say anything of substance; there were distractions from my unquiet mind. Other viewing: Disney's Frozen (2013) is a joy. I hadn't expected to like it. There have been "comfort movies" like Cameron's Avatar and Scott's Prometheus. We saw Despicable Me 2, and it was thoroughly disappointing. I saw Milos Forman's Ragtime (1981, adapted from E.L. Doctorow's novel) for the first time, and I found it most notable for Randy Newman's wonderful score (his first). A lot of TV, too, but I'll talk on that some other time.

Enough for now. Spooky will be back shortly with Korean food, and after dinner I have to get back to work.

Move Along.
Aunt Beast

* I don't want to hear any shit about how you're too cool for Facebook. Okay? Keep it to yourself. You don't wanna have a Facebook account? I ain't making you.