And the ringing in your ears won't stop

It is a small thing in the face of every other piece of scarifying news, but I wish to complain about the roaring mechanical cacaphony that has dominated our eardrums all afternoon. It sounds most like a woodchipper, although then I worry about what it's been doing for hours on end. spatch believes it to be in action right around the corner of the bottom of our street. I like trees and do not like the flashbacks to last year's six months straight of sleep-shattering municipal construction. I haven't been able to take out my earplugs and it still hurts.

How many buzzwords can we fit on a pink-taxed box?

Just about everything about today went off the rails, so I took a very long walk toward evening and a bunch of pictures before the light went.

( You're not a sun that's setting )

I thought for decades I had been born in Brookline, but it turns out I had mistaken on which side of the Emerald Necklace the town line falls: as my birth certificate affirms, I was born in Boston. I am working on not letting it interfere with my hard-won affection for the city. I called both of my senators to encourage them further to demand the release of Mahmoud Khalil and my representative to thank her for speaking out. I wrote a letter to the Boston City Council and Mayor Wu in support of the resolution to expand Boston's status as a sanctuary city to include the trans community. Five years of pandemic. A total lunar eclipse for Purim feels about right.