Now, Andy did you hear about this one?

I only seem to update any more when I am leaving the state to go somewhere else. Very well, I am leaving for San Francisco! Like, at four in the morning. In the ridiculous pantheon of horribleness that is my life this year, I was flying home from San Diego when I found out my uncle was dying, and it all sort of went to pot again. A while ago I started writing down what happened at Louise's funeral and wake; some time I will finish that, and then you guys are going to get to hear about The Time Thorne Cried Really Hard In An Airport Front Of Her Coworker, An Airline Clerk, And A Bunch Of Drunk Germans And Freaked Out Everybody In The Process. I may recite it in iambic pentameter.

At any rate, this was exactly a month ago; when you have the misfortune to die in a country not your own (even one as innocuously inoffensive as Canada in this case), it's still a bitch and a half to move a body across country borders, so we are only just now getting to hold the funeral and memorial. (Of course, it somehow ended up exactly on the weekend I had scheduled to go away for vacation. So that happened, but I've rescheduled so it's not the end of the world.) It's the first Chinese funeral I've been to since my grandmother died about fourteen years ago, and my lasting impression of them is we basically spend a lot of time eating. I plan to also spend the majority of my time with my tiny cousins, because chasing a bunch of happily shrieking four year olds around is good balm for sadness.

I don't know what it is about this year. Every time I think I've gotten back on my feet, something comes and knocks me off them again. I can't remember a worse year I've had; not even any of the hobbies and things I look to for pleasure or distraction—sports, writing, books, cooking, hiking, etc.—seem to give me anything. They're fraught with disappointment. My temper smolders on the shortest of fuses. My laptop burned out right when I got home, and the repair place has yet to give it back to me. Not only do I miss being happy, I miss feeling anything other than mostly kind of hopeless. I mean, mostly, because there are some good moments. Last night, for example, I had a great conversation about pirates! And also horse dicks. And I have had family and friends, lovely, lovely people who have been infinitely patient with me and kind when I was either an amorphous blob of depression, a raging wad of anger, or both.

But good Christ, this year has blown like hell. My union gonna hear about this.

Anyway. Life's not all bad; it just seems that way. The other day I ate a chicken sandwich that was so good, it was like tasting God. Life is worth living as long as there are delicious sandwiches out there in the world. This is a philosophy that's served me well.

…HERE IS ANOTHER POEM ABOUT DEATH. Also a picture of Bryce Harper getting drenched in Gatorade because that amuses me, and a picture of Megan Fox in a dress covered with keys because she's pretty and so is the dress, and Alexander Ovechkin drenching himself with ice water for a good cause. (Michael Phelps also did stuff this past week, but not well, so I've left him out of the round-up to shame him into DOING BETTER.)

( Poems and pictures )

In my usual "Thorne leaves state, hockey stuff happens" predictions, I predict the Caps sign Biz-Nasty. Oh, and you should watch this Utena music vid by shati because it's awesome.