I finished Towers of Midnight last night, which after a promising start to Sanderson’s concluding trilogy spent most of its length spinning its wheels. I’ve been doing a book a month pretty religiously since I started this, but I may go ahead and knock out A Memory of Light soon just to be finished. There’s a new John Gwynne book to get to first, though, and that’s much more important. I will almost certainly do a wrap-up post once I’m finished, but nobody wants to read that and you all know what it’s going to say by now.

One of my high school teachers passed away in the last few days at the ripe old age of 95, and while I’m not certain I’m going to write about her, I may attend the service on Monday and I’m a little twisted about it at the moment. I’d looked her up a few times over the past several years and just assumed that either there was no obituary to be found or it was eluding my Google-fu; no, turns out she was just nearly immortal, and I suspect she’d been running mostly on spite for the last couple of decades. I say that with deep affection, of course.

For now, though, the last week has been emotionally exhausting on a whole lot of levels, and I came home and immediately fell asleep in my chair for an hour or so, and I think the proper method of recovering from my week is to go hit a bunch of monsters with a giant fuck-off hammer. So I’m off to do that. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.