February was hard, as always.

My mom had a nervous breakdown. She and Dion then talked about philosophy and sang along with Johnny Cash while I made 64 kimchi/shiitake dumplings in my usual Saturday sleep-deprived state.

I awoke some nights to loud crashes and Dion sobbing. Eventually he became immobilized by depression so Noah got in touch with his parents and took him to the emergency room.

I worked with a pointy head toward a deadline, editing for 18 hours straight, going to White Sands twice, and then missed the deadline by 16 minutes, because I am the type of idiot who does cannot read the words “eastern standard time.”

Angel Pie went from killing mice to near-death. Then she died.

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