On the floor of the big top right next to the overwhelming sense of impending doom

As of this afternoon with the pulmonologist, it looks like I have asthma, common or garden, either inherited or triggered by three months of lung infection with allergies involved somehow. It may resolve, it may be lifelong, I will have no idea until it has been treated for some time. Honestly, I had been so worried about yet another unidentifiable illness or further permanent damage that being handed a heavy-duty inhaler and instructions to report back in three weeks comes as a relief. Asthma is not thrilling, but it is at least well understood. Also the results of my pulmonary function test—while diagnostic—were just as hilarious as I expected, i.e., it says on paper that my lung capacity is 114%.

I returned home to discover that selkie had sent me one of the four remaining novels by Theodore Sturgeon I have not yet read: the novelization of Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1961). I have no idea whether it is any good and I look forward to finding out. It was meaningless to me at the time, but I will always regret not impulse-buying I, Libertine (1956) from the pulp racks of Upper Story Books that one time in college I saw it.

Courtesy of moon_custafer: the jiu-jitsu lesson from Stand-In (1937). In the interests of pedantry, Leslie Howard is not actually playing the himbo of the century but an enormous nerd with the people skills of a rock, but in this situation it comes to the same thing.

spatch captured this most elusive expression of Autolycus' in the wild: the blerp.