52 Pick Up.

When it became obvious that there was no kitten in my immediate future I hied myself to IKEA and bought a plant. I generally stay away from plants due to my extraordinary ability to render them withered and lifeless, but perhaps this specimen will be heartier. The Actually has two plants already, Planty and Sal Mineo, both of whom are years old, so I am hoping some of his superior plant-tending skills will rub off on me. I have named my plant Hugh Laurie, and here is a picture:
Hugh Laurie
Note the cat on his way into the frame, intent on mayhem.

I have a lot to say about the past few weeks, but no idea yet how to say it.
Here is the abbreviated version:
I am in the odd position of having too much on my plate and yet feeling unable to relinquish anything because to do so would cause a cascade of changes—not just for me, but for the Actually. It is as if I am carrying a house of cards on my back, a house of cards that is precisely one card too heavy. If I remove a card, they all tumble. If I don’t, chances are that I’ll eventually collapse, sending the metaphorical cards fluttering into the street.

It’s a pickle.

I’m sure in a day or two I will be back, moaning unattractively about the details of said pickle, but for now I am busy drinking gin fizzes and watering Hugh Laurie while I mull things over.