Thanks to death and the time change, I have not been able to stay in bed past 4 a.m. By midday yesterday I could feel myself getting ready to crash, and I did loll around for most of the afternoon, but I never napped. Well, whatever. Someday I'll sleep again. Presumably.

In the meantime, here we are at Election Day. Five days ago I thought this was going to be the week's major stressor. Now it's no more than a hovering cloud of doom. Granted, a very big hovering cloud of doom.

My son spent yesterday evening with Stephen so was able to glean more news: about how he's holding up, what tasks he's dealing with, how he needs help. Stephen's good friend Chris was also there. Chris is a union organizer, and who could be a better aid for funeral arrangements than an organizer? This morning I got a text from Chris saying that Steve wants the two of us to collaborate on an obituary. So that's step 1: something solid I can do. And P says they are beginning to sketch out plans for a funeral celebration--which will be a massive undertaking. Hundreds of people are likely to show up. There are thoughts of getting permission to block off 12th Avenue for a few hours. Ghost Ray must be rubbing his hands with glee at the idea of having a party so big that his friends have to shut down a New York City street.

T and I did get into the park for an hour or so early yesterday morning. My energy level is spotty at best, but it felt good to clamber over granite and stare out into the glassy sea. We watched an eagle; we watched a sinuous swimming harbor seal. Then we came back and did a few jobs for Weslea: sorting out junk, insulating windows, throwing down cardboard on the weedy garden. I kept thinking: surely, this will make me sleep; surely this will make me sleep. But no.

So I trudge on. Today we'll be on the road again, heading inland to Wellington. Tomorrow I have to be in class all day. And then finally, finally, finally, we can go home.