I don't know if I should feel bad about how many times now my house has tried to kill me, or happy about the fact that of all the times it could have killed me, it didn't - or hasn't yet. This time it was a fully-on ceiling fan falling out of the ceiling directly on top of where I had been working moments earlier. The energy in the house is weird the last few weeks. I think my full moon spell went ill - I lifted up my poncho where I'd laid it out to dry after I waterproofed it, and was attacked by the wasps that had built its nest underneath the swing.