So I arrived at around noon; I'm finally here! Update with the details of orientation later.

So hey ya, I'm an uncle now...Uncle Mike, and my nephew Jack.

I have promised myself over the years that I was going to sit down and write this "thing" that I have been mulling over in my head for a few years...really.  And as with every epic, they need a good invocation of the Muse to get the story rolling...so I thought up something like this for a beginning. 

Alight on and light in me you nine holy tongues of flame, and fill me with passions that burn and blaze as wildfires which lick the dried out grasses of a field once lush with verdant greens.  For such a painful passion drove a selection of weary souls to pursue such ends, and oh!, what glorious and what such nobles ends they were!  How a man, tainted or blessed with a fey nature, brooding and well loved, did overcome all that opposed him.  How he was so celebrated in life, ethereal in nature, yet, bound by fate to the earth as he was.  How his own blood betrayed him!  And how an unearthy love might have saved him.  Muses, daughters of fatherly and all knowing Jove, relate to me now, and fill this humble singer with the spirit of the bard to tell tales of a legend long forgotten, in a time never well known past its own.

Yeh? Meh? Neh?

Whad'ya think?

So the pool table will cost 300. That's fine I guess. What a day...blarg.

One week and counting.

So I thought I had one weekend left; I have two. Yep, it's like when the clock is running with less than ten seconds remaining and the other team gets it reset back to one minute. Such a short time, but can make the biggest difference in the world.

As Dido and Aeneas, but in the place of reckless abandonment, and a wayward soul tossed high, cruelly upon the funeral pyre, ties are rebound, and the embers of a bright flame are rekindled. But just as Aeolus with his shifty winds, I these flames, "molletque animos et temperat iras".

New format. Not that anyone comments.

I really don't know what it is, but I'm stuck. And there is no force that can yet pry me loose.

How hard I have fallen. For once a battle has ended, the ringing of broze has subsided, wounded cries have at last died away, and I have stumbled among the broken bodies of my comrades, no matter what blows have been inflicted on me, or that I myself have dealt, there is no embittered hate for the opposing foe. But a need for peace that no amount of pitiful skirmishes or grand battlelines arrayed for combat will ever possibly yield. For I was hurt in a different way, more deeply than any sword could cut, or ax may maim.

Learn, why don't you learn.

dicit: sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti,
in uento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.