Solution:

So, I rush-published my big finding, putting it out there in multiple places in order to minimize disputes about the date and "who got there first."

I had wanted to keep it under wraps until some big party, but it really freaked me out that that one guy online was asking *smart* questions showing that he was doubting the current paradigm of explaining things...

Once you get there, you get there fast, and it all comes at once, and I've just put too much work in to have someone else swoop in, even with some half-articulated sh*t on social media.

So, for now at least, it's done.

My heart skipped a beat.

Over social media, I saw that someone was using one particular vocab word in relation to the forms that are the heart of my "Great Big Idea."

I quickly searched their history and they have mentioned a few things over the past three years, but they don't seem to be doing intensive research, or have had the same breakthrough.

It has scared me sh*tless.

Lately, I have had the oddest feeling of being pursued by death.

Lately, I have had the oddest feeling of being pursued by death. Like, it's like somehow looking out at me from small everyday places and I always have to be on guard, lest it creeps out and comes and takes me away unawares, and I am done.

Like, I watch carefully now when I cross the street, or when I go to my cottage door at night, or when I take out the trash into the back alley at the end-of-shift at the one (Thai) restaurant where I work now.

It's like at any moment something could happen, if I'm not careful.

I feel like this is all tied into my one big discovery that I made with the one ancient language that I've been studying intensively for several years, now.

It's almost like I'm giving intellectual birth, and I'm in this liminal vulnerable place until the process and the project reach completion enough.

It really is the strangest feeling.

Unbelievable safety incident a few weeks ago...

...in the city that I used to live in, where there was a mid-afternoon weekday shooting a few blocks from where my one (half Sudanese) (half British) friend (the sister of the brother-sister pair) lives with her family, and about which we were texting when she said:

Yeh everyone in my building heard the shots. I was still downtown.

-- and --

My neighbor had just left the house with her kids (both under 5) to go for a walk. Apparently the gunman drove down the section of our one-way street the wrong way and almost crashed twice into cars going the other way.

. . .

(. . .)

A complex of mine with spoiling avocados:

I must eat them, and I mask the fruity, slightly rotting smell by putting more salt and raw onion than usual on the toast.

Turkey-broth.

At a certain point when you boil a turkey-carcass, there's just little bits left that get picked up by your spoon and stuff when you go to strain it, like little vertabra with cartilage all around, and bits of skin that float up to the top and roll with the boils.

It's all very primal, to have this dismembered animal sitting there stewing in your pot, becoming less and less of a thing over the hours, as you pick off it forgotten jagged bits of meat that have tensed up and now stick up off the bones.

Posterity (2 of 2): People who are gone.

It's very odd to think of all the people who are gone -- my grandparents, my great aunt, other people in my life who I've known -- and to think that here I am probably on the verge of some great achievement where my name will always be remembered, and they never knew me for that, at all.

It's almost like I'm another person, now, and some great curtain had fallen and cut off their perception of me, and who I became.