Stepbrother going in tomorrow morning for emergency surgery on his brain mass. Best case scenario for him (based entirely on guesswork, mom-intermediated medical information, and WebMD research) is probably 8-12 months, assuming he lives through tomorrow.

Another rift in my social circle, expelling a dear old friend into god knows what fate.

Two fucking weeks to get this entire apartment packed and shipped, in the middle of a busy cycle at work.

Lingering doubts, regrets, and self-loathing about the biggest friendship explosion of my life, aka The Thing.

But at this point, if the gods can just do me the small mercies of letting me keep my dragon, my new home, my laptop, my job, my health, and my webcomic... I'll be okay.

Other people won't be, and I'm still angry as hell-- at the world, at nature, at myself-- possibly at you, who the fuck knows, but it's far less likely-- about that.

But the Tigress Dude abides. None of it matters anymore. That eight-year drama called Seattle is canceled. My new sitcom drops on the 23rd. Can a psycho cat from Mars and a snarky lizard witch get along in the Big Easy? Check your local listings.

And all tragedy, given time, will transmute into comedy. It's the most important thing my family taught me, and my very last remaining point of faith.