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Medium Dawn Felagund of the Fountain

I Am a Nerd...I Am an Athlete...LARPing Is My Sport!

The (Cyber) Bag of Weasels

bread and puppet




"About as much fun as a bag of weasels"...when I first saw this Irish adage, it made me think of the life of a writer: sometimes perilous, sometimes painful, certainly interesting. My paper journal has always been called "The Bag of Weasels." This is the Bag of Weasels' online home.

I Am a Nerd...I Am an Athlete...LARPing Is My Sport!

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bread and puppet
Yes, I know, it is Tuesday. I did not write in yesterday because I am a bad, evil, and busy person.

The first thing I have to say:

The Dummy Game. Went. GREAT!!!

I could not have asked for things to run better! Bobby and Potter picked up on the rules right away, no one did anything dumb with his character, and best of all, we all had a great time! It ended up taking around four or five hours (I'm not exactly positive when we started), but part of that was because they had to endure the occasional Felagund lecture on the rules. Other than that, it was pretty much straight playing action! I was nervous as crap about it, but fell into the DM-groove right away. I love playing too--and will miss it--but DMing is also a lot of fun. Naturally, being a writer, I am constantly struck with the urge to make up crazy stories and even crazier characters, and this is a great outlet. And I will occasionally get to run "players" too since Bobby and Potter are only a team of two with no arcane spellcasters. But I am already excited about our next game and it's still weeks away! (We have to get into the role-playing first.)

One sucky thing: The AC in our apartment is busted, and this is the hottest week yet this year. Yesterday, it was 95 degrees outside. Today, it is supposed to be a cool 91. We have a repair request in, and if nothing is done today (we realized we were getting lukewarm air from our vents on Sunday, when it started to get hot outside), I feel sorry for the person on the other end of the phone from Bobby when he calls to reiterate our request. I can tolerate heat; I think I could even learn to live without AC with little trouble, if I had to. (I prefer to be spoiled.) But Bobby gets miserable and very uncomfortable.

Yesterday was crazy at work. Besides being Manic Monday, Johnny had a staff infection for the warrant officers (known in normal circles as a "staff meeting," but I can't help being punny), I had eleven warrants to run, and the last of the stats to finish. (My stats were finished last Wednesday by noon, but the city team didn't send me theirs until late Friday afternoon, and like I was going to do stats late Friday afternoon!) Because I am so enthused about D&D, I got good work done on the RPG, and should be able to finish it today. But what this means is that I haven't been able to write, which sucks. But this is good too, in a way, because I have been writing in my head instead, and so the next chapter (Findekano) should be breezy.

Speaking of Friday, I was supposed to leave at two, according to Johnny. Well, at 1:30, Johnny beeps me on the Nextel direct connect and says, "Dawn, you're not going to believe this, but Vernon's on his way into the office. He's in Jessup buying hotdogs right now." Needless to say, I was pissed (although I didn't let on to Johnny) because I can't leave when Mr. Vernon's there, and he tends to forget I'm in the office, until 4:30 rolls around and I call goodbye to him, and he says, "You're still here, Dawn?" Of course I'm still f***ing here! You didn't send me home, did you?! But what really pissed me off (and this shows my insanity, if nothing else) was the idea of hotdogs. I don't know what it is about hotdogs, but they piss me off. They are a stupid and nasty food. So I was stewing about having to hang around the office and do nothing (but work on the dummy game, which I could do at home, assuming I was willing to forgo a nap) so that Mr. Vern could eat hotdogs in the conference room. GAH!

Maybe because of my pessimism, the Fates decided to cut me a break because Mr. Vern didn't forget about me and sent me home at 2:30, which is a half-hour earlier than my usual three o'clock dismissal time on Fridays. (Technically, I have to stay until four, but no one in government works on Fridays. No one.)

So not only am I insane, but when I told Bobby about my insanity (about having equal or more piss in me about the hotdogs than having to hang around work), he started laughing and said that he and my father-in-law were talking about it, and they both agreed that the hotdogs probably fueled my fire. This is before I told Bobby about it. So my insanity is universally acknowledged and accepted because Bobby didn't act like it's weird at all.

Oh, and I learned something good the other day: Bobby was watching one of his UFO shows, and it was discussing theories of UFO "abduction," one of which is that part of REM sleep mimics wakefulness, but people are paralyzed and often see dream images. In other words, they are awake but dreaming. So my "hallucinations," as I suspected, are not pathological at all but just a normal phenonmenon. (This was actually along the same lines as my theory, which makes me feel smart too.) Now if only someone would come along and say, "Sure, hypomanic and dysthymic cycles are normal! Sure, it's normal to be twenty-three years old and still have imaginary friends!" then I would be, as we say in the biz, Ocean King. (Actually, I read an article once that argued that imaginary friends in childhood should be discouraged as they can be indicative of pathology. I wonder what the author would think of the parade of Elves going in and out of my office right now? Well, if he reads this, Maedhros says "hi.")
Pathologically yours,
Medium Dawn Felagund of the Fountain

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