Strange how the world can juxtapose beauty and anger.

I spent Sunday night and Monday with a close friend whose life self-destructed when her significant other walked out on her, out of the blue. And yesterday, I couldn�t help but appreciate the beauty of the world around me, and in other people. I drove my husband to work for seven-thirty in the morning and I took the river road all the way home from the West Island, and it was glorious. I really don�t think it was relief that my problems paled in comparison to hers. Something was alight in my heart, though, and I loved everything and everyone I saw. Even spending time in traffic was enjoyable, somehow. It was good to be alive.

I love my circle of friends for their united support, their immediate defence of the wronged soul. You can almost see the ranks closing around her, bristling with righteous anger, keeping the world at bay until she has recovered her equilibrium. We may find it difficult to get together to kick back and relax, but in a crisis, see how priorities are rescheduled, how friends rise to the top. We drop everything to help one another. It�s been a while since something like this has happened (which is a good thing, I suppose), and I�ve almost forgotten how fierce we can be.

I�ve touched base today with a couple of people, including our wounded comrade, who is shaky but slowly rooting herself in reality once again. We�re all going out on limbs, taking leaps of faith, knowing that we�re a support group, a web of encouragement and love and laughter and shoulders to cry on. I woke up this morning and thought about how much I was looking forward to writing again. I played with my kitten. I�ve curled up in the sun and read half a book.

Today, too, it is good to be alive.

Someone has created a string quartet tribute to Sarah McLachlan.

Two of my favourite things, like chocolate and peanut butter. Who’d have ever thought?

Oh look – there’s one for Tori Amos, too…

And The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra has recorded a disc of REM tunes. I absolutely have to hear “What’s the Frequency Kenneth?” done by full orchestra. And “The One I Love”. And an expansion of the string work in “Nightswimming”.

Argh!

I walked into the office this morning, and our little black kitten was nowhere to be found. I searched everywhere – behind desks, in drawers, under radiators…

Finally there was a tiny sneeze from the corner of the room. I walked over to the altar and peeped behind it. We have a triangular plant stand in that corner, behind the angled table that serves as our altar, and it has a tiny shelf about five inches off the floor that’s nigh-impossible to see and is never used.

Nix was all curled up on that shelf, perfectly content. Nice, safe, quiet spot.

Adorable. Break, my heart.

Well, that was�

I�ve talked about how parties aren�t my thing before, and how sometimes I�m in an anti-social mood but feel obliged to attend a party because I�ve put so much work into a costume. Last night was not one of those nights. Instead, I got there, and� well� the energy at the party was� odd. A bit� stagnant, actually.

I think everyone was slightly off. It certainly won�t stand out in my memory as one of the greatest parties I was ever at. Ceri looked fantastic, and our husbands looked fantastic, and there were a couple of really, really amazing costumes there (pictures forthcoming). Our hosts were in a terrific mood. It just didn�t feel very social; there was no real pull to circulate. My costume was comfortable, and received one or two compliments, but all in all, I don�t think I�ve chalked up enough enjoyment to pay off the hours put into it just yet. Thank goodness there�s another party next week. Yes, yes, I know I�ve stated that the reward of the time and energy invested is in the satisfaction of the final creation� I�d just like to enjoy the time spent wearing that creation to the best of my ability, as well.

Interesting fact: I received more compliments on a Star Trek TOS uniform I made and wore about seven years ago at last night’s party than compliments for the costume I was actually wearing. These retroactive compliments were inspired by a whole contingent of Trek-uniformed persons walking in (including my ex-finac�s current fianc�e, in the exact same costume I had made lo these many years ago… and I can say with all confidence that I looked much, much better.) It was highly ironic. (Yes, yes, I have on my list of things to do the creation of a costume gallery page; we actually found the scanner last night.)

There was some stimulating conversation at last night�s party, though:

Ceri: I married Destiny.

Autumn: That�s a horrible concept, to be married to Fate itself!

Ceri: Okay, I married my Destiny.

Autumn: Well, that�s all right then.

Ceri: You, on the other hand, married an ARCHETYPE!

Guilty as charged. My husband is Santa Claus, Destruction (of Neil Gaiman�s the Endless), Herne, and a bunch of other abstract-like entities. All in one.

I met a couple of other NaNoWriMo participants, and it has been generally decided that we should meet regularly down at the pub to discuss our progress throughout November, which makes us Drinkers With a Writing Problem. I woke up this morning and realised that in five days, my life belongs to November and a novel. Maybe it was chatting with Dez last night about plot and divine inspiration, but when I opened my eyes this morning all of a sudden I knew that a road trip was part of my story, It certainly wasn�t beforehand. My plot has now undergone mutation twice, both unintentional, and no matter how hard I try to force it back to the original nice safe tame storyline, it doesn�t work. (Warning: when going toe to toe with a Muse, the Muse will usually be triumphant, and you a bloody pulp on the floor.) I have no idea how I�m supposed to work a road trip into the general outline; it does not fit. At all. But there has to be one.

Ah. Nothing like correcting code given to you by an official organization to make it work correctly.

What stuns me is ten months ago, I wouldn’t have known what was wrong or how to fix it.

Richard Harris is dead at 72. A ripe old age, but still, a loss for us all.

There’s just something wrong with losing the man who played King Arthur, Marcus Aurelius, and Professor Dumbledore. Such a man should be immortal, somehow.

You may have noticed I’ve switched commenting functions. YACCS was giving me problems logging in, making maintenance an irritation.

Hello, Haloscan…