So the paperwork seems to be resolved. I had the right collection of documents sufficiently well completed to handle what was needed. Or anyway I'm not aware of any glaring deficiencies, so the day caudle declared an editorial success. Not sure how much that gains me, overall.

 I. Like. It.

Last night I saw this room-sized map that transformed to show different collections of data about the area -- flora & fauna, industrial production, demographic distributions, stuff like that. It worked like the timetables in European train stations, where little tabs flip-flip-flip-flip-flip until they get to the right ones. The person using the map could ask for a particular data set, and the map would clatter away until that's what was displayed. Kind of cool.

The whole thing also involved a lot of angry-sad interactions with the wife, but I don't clearly recall how the map was related to that.

Um, there's a line.

Just don't ask me to pay for somebody else's healthcare.

People like to take that potshot at proposals for a government role in expanding health care coverage. But you know, that's what all insurance is. We all pool our needs and we pool our funds, and somebody takes a cut for handling the paperwork. That is insurance 101, right? The lucky ones pay more than they take out; the poor bastards with health problems soak up some of the difference left after the paper shufflers pocket their share.

So pooling cost and pooling payments is happening now, and it will continue. The question is what's the best way?

So the paperwork seems to be resolved. I had the right collection of documents sufficiently well completed to handle what was needed. Or anyway I'm not aware of any glaring deficiencies, so the day could be declared an editorial success. Not sure how much that gains me, overall.

It was a harrowing couple hours of silent dissatisfaction -- almost exactly like . . .

People: They are Just. Shoes.

So. The last of the court's paperwork is about complete. Didn't get it done within the 20 day period that would have avoided the requirement to have a court appearance. Oh, well. We'll spend 20 minutes at the City & County Building. I seriously don't expect it to take more trouble than a traffic ticket, and I don't know how I feel about that.

The weird thing is that it's paperwork. So I've been telling myself for a while. It's not the important part. But it turns out not to be just paperwork. It was already a very unexpectedly heavy slog. Then she looked at me and said "You want to do this?"

Well, fuck. It's only been years, with two useless turns through couples counseling and endless repetition of the same fucking discussion/argument and no change and not even any significant communication about anything not completely practical. So, yes I want to finish this stupid fucking paperwork.

But no, I don't want to reject you and throw away all this history. I don't want this divorce. I just don't...

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if you get a chance to see Martin McDonagh's feckin' play The Lieutenant of Inishmore, do not feckin' hesitate. Nevermind the 6 gallons of feckin' fake blood or the 30+ gunshots. It's feckin' hilarious, as are the other McDonagh shows I've seen, but it goes way beyond those. He's known as a crazy feckin' feck, and this seems to be him saying to himself "What, they think THOSE were the work of a feckin' feck? Well THIS will feckin' show them!!"

Warning, though: Cat lovers will be simultaneously fascinated and repulsed.