Waking to the news of Jay's death was utterly unsurprising and entirely expected, and yet. And yet.
I met Jay on my first trip to the US, just a day or two after I met Karen at SFO. That made him not quite but nearly my first friend in America. Also he was my second friend-called-Jay-with-cancer. Now they're both dead, and apparently loss is cumulative; I feel doubly bereft.
Some clown in New York has trademarked pi (aka "some clown in the bureaucracy has allowed this to go through") and his attorney is sending cease-and-desist letters to people selling T-shirts with pi on them. I had been planning a post about that, with defiant links through to my pi story (obviously) - but fuck that. Today's been given over.
Otherwise, I am writing a story this weekend, with a deadline of today. Because that is the way the universe likes to weave these things together, it's all about dealing with death and the stuff that gets left behind. That's contextual and legitimate, so that's what I'm going to do with the rest of the day. In between reading through our little patch of internet, because people are talking about my friend.