The depression treatment continues. Much like God's justice, it grinds slow, but exceedingly fine. Today has been a little rough. Kidlet's been sick with what we now know to have been a UTI, but it's meant a beggar of a fever. So I'm currently having my usual after-the-fact case of nerves. Mom, worried herself, particularly where fevers are concerned is Not Being Helpful. "Did you know your brother had convulsions from a high fever when he was 18 months old?" "Yes, Mom, I did. Also, did I remember to thank you for the fever-phobia you installed with the other neuroses and personality quirks? Aside from that, I thought I'd let the kid run around in traffic and sleep in the park tonight." Combine that with heavy duty surgery for a friend tomorrow, a brush with death-by-breadknife (I kid you not. ALWAYS WASH YOUR HANDS WHEN YOU GET A CUT, FOLKS.) with another old friend, and having the financial tide brushing my chin, and you have one very ...
The back of the house is where theater's black magic happens. It's a place where empires rise and fall, where people love and hate, and the place where gods live and die. And yet, like the man in the movie said, it all turns out all right in the end. It's a mystery. Which is another word for miracle.