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nebulochaotic
Tuesday, 14 March 2006 10:00 pmToday's Worthless Word is "nebulochaotic", which means hazily confused, and thus handily delineates my state of mind at the moment. It sounds as though it should have something to do with clouds, of which, as I may have said already, I approve.
(Good lord. My insane cat just ricocheted through my study at a rate of knots, which I suspect is a response to the cool night air. Ah, the thunder of little hooves. It would all be a better illustration of feline grace if she could refrain from actually bouncing off the doorframe.)
This weekend was enlivened by several disappearances, viz. the driver's window in my car, vanishing down into the door with an audible crunch, and my Evil Landlord from my Falkenstein campaign on four hour's notice, citing general lack of enjoyment of roleplaying as a cause. The resulting irritation levels have been assuaged by (a) my nice new mechanic, whose guys not only fixed rusted bits of interior door mechanism while I waited, but cleaned the bird-crap off the window, (b) the rest of my players stoutly declaring that they wanted to continue playing despite my recurring attacks of DM self-loathing, and (c) the presence in the house of Charles Stross's Iron Sunrise (fun), and the next two Patrick O'Brian novels. I would not have believed that I could derive so much enjoyment from hordes of men dashing around various bits of ocean doing highly technical things to sails and ropes and, occasionally, each other.
Progress on the encyclopedia entries: um, yes. Not as such.
(Good lord. My insane cat just ricocheted through my study at a rate of knots, which I suspect is a response to the cool night air. Ah, the thunder of little hooves. It would all be a better illustration of feline grace if she could refrain from actually bouncing off the doorframe.)
This weekend was enlivened by several disappearances, viz. the driver's window in my car, vanishing down into the door with an audible crunch, and my Evil Landlord from my Falkenstein campaign on four hour's notice, citing general lack of enjoyment of roleplaying as a cause. The resulting irritation levels have been assuaged by (a) my nice new mechanic, whose guys not only fixed rusted bits of interior door mechanism while I waited, but cleaned the bird-crap off the window, (b) the rest of my players stoutly declaring that they wanted to continue playing despite my recurring attacks of DM self-loathing, and (c) the presence in the house of Charles Stross's Iron Sunrise (fun), and the next two Patrick O'Brian novels. I would not have believed that I could derive so much enjoyment from hordes of men dashing around various bits of ocean doing highly technical things to sails and ropes and, occasionally, each other.
Progress on the encyclopedia entries: um, yes. Not as such.
