A lot of people are saying that about the Bible these days

1. So, yes. The apartment went through. We are very happy.

I still have to move everything out of my present location by the 31st, because adrian_turtle's new housemate takes possession in September. Packing is mostly not the issue; transportation is. I have no car and my back is still badly messed up from the cube shelving incident in May. ratatosk and rushthatspeaks are coming early next week, but anyone else local who wants to help shlep stuff to derspatchel's for food should please let me know. My goal is to be done with everything but the essentials—bed, laptop, meds—by the 30th, so that a week from today I can get up, wrangle a futon mattress into or onto a car, and then spend the night at the HFA's all-night noir marathon. I think it's a good incentive.

2. I dreamed I was taking part in a foretelling ritual called the Midnight Angel: a voice speaks three times at midnight, one time male, one time female, one time neither, telling who will fall in love in the coming year, who will die, who will travel or be changed. Each voice only recites a list of names. There is some paraphernalia with dried flowers and fresh water poured into a mirror on the ground. Only I was taking part in the pre-Victorian version, which was a lot less like British guising than Mongolian shamanism, dressed in bright robes and ribbons, veiled with knots, ridden by something that was not an angel and while it was in me, I was something else. I remember sitting upstairs in a small, paneled room with diamond-paned windows, slightly overheated, waiting. Then I remember speaking to people in the third voice, the genderless one of journey and transformation, and walking around the university grounds and the fern-filled glasshouse and a shop that sold rose and lotus cookies ordinarily, answering common questions as well as the future, which was not what anyone had been expecting. Crackling sparks and a dusk-blue sky. The riding not-an-angel may have taken a lover; I have the vague sense of being approached by them afterward, remembering nothing of what my body had done with them. After it was over, I tried reading a book from the library about the known traditions of the Midnight Angel, only to feel it had absolutely nothing in common with the experience I had undergone. There was an awful romance novel of the name, a period piece framed around one of those supposedly adoring deceptions where the guy passes himself off as the voice of the future in order to get close to the girl; I didn't get more than a chapter in.

3. Yesterday afternoon I picked up my replacement Kickstarter T-shirt from the Brattle, successfully bought enough groceries to last me the week here, and then met Rob and a gang of birthday-celebrating persons mostly known to me from the stage in the balcony of the Somerville for The World's End (2013). Final film in the Cornetto Trilogy, which I still think is one of the greatest linking devices of cinema. It may be the best thing Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, and Edgar Wright have ever made together. Mostly copying the e-mail I wrote to nineweaving last night—

( It's like a lion eating hummus. )

Which is where my brain ran out at three in the morning, but it's the kind of movie I'm really hoping plays again at the 'Thon in February, because I'd cheerfully watch it just for all the lines I missed for laughing; it's an incredibly dense script and it doesn't wait for anyone, except I never lost the thread of the story, so everyone must have known what they were doing. I have no idea what they'll do next. With any luck, something with no ice cream or pubs. I'll be very curious.

I have a week.