The middle day of the year was the second of July — a Pungenday. Nothing marked it. No bell, no feast, no committee. The year tipped from filling to emptying while you were doing something else, which is how middles prefer to operate.

This is the fortieth day of Confusion. Confuflux approaches, ten days from this writing, and the Society reminds members that the flux of Confusion is not an event but a leak: it is already in the walls.

A revelation, this month, on the matter of half-done things: you are carrying an inventory of them. The project at forty percent. The letter at one sentence. The apology at zero. The Greyfaces say finish or abandon, as if those were the only two doors. The Goddess offers a third: declare the middle sacred and stand in it a while longer. A thing half-done is a thing still capable of becoming anything. Finished things can only be what they are.

Do not resolve your halves this month. Visit them. Water them. Tell them you have not forgotten.

Hail Eris. The minutes remain forthcoming, and are, in that sense, half-done, and therefore holy.

— Eris, by the Office of Forthcoming Minutes, in continuous session