Listen, y'all.

I know that 'bout the only times we hear the word "community" in the US, it's paired with a group ("the Black community", "the gay community"), or used with "organizer" so it sounds like someone knocking on doors in a neighborhood.

It's bigger than those examples and uses.

At least a few of our pipes are frozen, despite our best efforts. There's (currently) no indication that they're cracked, but at some point I'll need to don my coverall jumpsuit, grab a flashlight, and crawl under the house for a look.
We currently have no hot water. (Dunno if the tankless heater froze up – it shouldn't – or if my not wrapping a couple of flow valves left a chink in our armor.)

I really do love unsettling things. Music, costumes, film & television – seeing people create unsettling art, or making some myself, gives me the warm fuzzies inside. It truly comforts me.

Why? How in the heck can I find comfort and joy in things meant to disturb?

I really am glad that I sat down, 24 years ago, and created an entirely new name for myself – one I could use when being creative, or making new friends, or needing the slightest obfuscation. One I owned so entirely that I could hand it out to others with whom I felt kinship.

I literally printed out a sheet with two-letter combinations I liked the nebulous "feel" of, and a Scrabble rack and tiles, to make something 8+ characters long that would be accepted by username fields.