#reconcilable differences

I could be home. Eating chicken with my family.

John just wants me to pick a topic already.

Book jacket for Spiegel & Grau  |  Art Director: Greg Mollica  |  Designers: Devin Washburn and Greg Mollica  |  Illustrator: Devin Washburn  |  Published 2017

RECONCILABLE DIFFERENCES from Relay FM - Merlin Mann in a weekly conversation with John Siracusa. There is an intricate web implied here and this node connects Accidental Tech Podcast with Roderick on the Line. The tangents are interesting, and this pod illustrates how situational most personalities are. For deep podcast nerds, if they're intrigued.

"Are you sure you can handle this one, Bill? Why don't you let Isaac take care of this one?" Lydia inquired as she stood nearby. "Yeah, Bill, let me take this one! C'mon! You had me doing paperwork for the past two weeks. Let me get my hands dirty!" "That's exactly why I'm not going to let you take this one. There's a nasty curse attached to this one. Now I have more experience than you, I can handle it." "Merlin, Bill, I oughta—" "You oughta do what you're told or I can ask Gringotts to assign you to a desk job back in London." Isaac said nothing more beyond that point and stood off as Bill used his wand to move the cursed object onto the sand several feet away from them. When Bill unleashed the curse, he held his wand steady in an effort to control the massive black cloud that threatened to implode. Lydia and Isaac stepped in, making it quite apparent on Isaac's end that he had a hard enough time assisting, letting Bill know that he made the right call in not allowing him to take it on himself. "Bill!" Lydia called out to him after she had become overpowered, her wand having been forced from her grip. This horrific sound of terror was unleashed from this cloud as it had begun to blanket them in darkness. Bill was tossed from his feet and he felt himself being thrown head first into the sand. It was like being caught in the eye of a tornado and the only way Bill knew how to gain control again was to try his hand at the patronus charm, for which he had not practiced in years. "Expecto Patronum!" He had retreated to the memory of he and Fleur on the sofa of their old flat. He could clearly make out how she looked, as if he had placed himself in that moment after he had spoken the incantation. He was expecting a less than satisfactory attempt, but, to his surprise, the patronus, in its full form, had been propelled from his wand and kept around the room, creating a shield around himself and forcing the curse to retreat. His patronus, that had appeared as a lioness for the last several a years—had not changed at all. Usually it was expected for a patronus to alter its shape to reflect a big change in the caster's life, but his had not. His patronus had changed about a month into his relationship with Fleur. He had noticed how the lion had been stripped of his mane and started to appear more feminine, suggesting that this new woman in his life was having a very big impact on his psyche. He assumed that his falling out with her would have effected his patronus, seeing as the person who had inspired its change was no longer emotionally important to him. He couldn't shake this from his mind, even after he had completed the day's work. "Bill? Would you like some company tonight?" Lydia asked as she had walked up to him, affectionately stroking her hand against his upper back. He and Lydia had been left to themselves in his work tent. Neither of them had made their 'relationship' public. Not that there was much of a relationship to speak of. Bill wouldn't classify a relationship as sleeping together with the occasional lunch date on the side. Bill certainly didn't regard it as anything serious, so he didn't feel too terrible about turning down Lydia's offer to spend the evening together, "Not tonight. I'm tired," he admitted before he returned to his flat—alone. However, he was not tired as he had let Lydia believe. He sat upright on the edge of his bed, questioning every decision he had made whereas his relationship with Fleur was concerned. This was the first time that he actually sat and contemplated about all that had happened, and it was sending his world into a tailspin. Might I actually still love her? I mean, surely my patronus would have changed shape, it would not have responded to that memory on the sofa so precisely, so intensely, as if it had occurred just yesterday, "Bloody hell..." he groaned out of frustration and replayed that memory in his head: laying on the sofa with Fleur, grazing his fingers through her hair as she focused on the picture tube several feet away. He nudged his nose against the hollowness of her ear, smelling the French perfume that always dabbed against the sides of her neck. This warmth had started to fill his heart as he thought about the night in question: a, by all appearances, average, unimportant occasion in comparison to their wedding and the birth of their daughter... His patronus was trying to tell him something. It was trying to tell him that Fleur was still important to him, she was still a vital part of his life. He may have forgotten, but his patronus did not lie. It couldn't. His patronus was the most thorough, most honest representation of himself. It knew him better than he knew himself, and therefor her should listen to it, "I still love her," he whispered to himself. This wave of a realization hit him hard, and he didn't want to waste anymore time. Dressed as he was, in the clothes he had worked in all day, he apparated back to Shell Cottage. When he appeared on the doorstep, he found himself standing in the middle of a coastal storm. The rain was turning to sand into slush and the wind was blowing hard enough to whip his hair around. He was soaked to the bone before he could even step inside, bringing some of the water in with him when he crossed over the threshold and settled in the doorway. The house was still and quiet, except for the sound of his wet boots sliding across the wood floor.

View On WordPress

Two hours and thirty-five minutes later…