Monday, 28 September 2015

Every day's an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines

I finished the Witcher, which was great all the way to the end, and with its ending ended my fabulous escapism. It's been three weeks of empty trudging - nothing prudent, not writing, not painting, not roleplaying; I do the necessary cleaning so the house isn't gross, and eat like a cow, because really, I just don't know how to do bummer without the self destruction of vindictive eating.

The Jewish holidays screw up the routine I think I need; that, combined with the guild being different; Petruchio being gone; and being fat as seven hells just mean, well - nothing is dramatic, nothing is bad per ce, it's not as if I'm crying every day, or at all; but I'm trudging. And I'm avoiding going to bed because when I turn the light off I'm stuck there with nothing nice to think of until I fall asleep. I usually go through nice recent roleplaying stories in my head at those moments - but I didn't have any of those for a while, and am less likely to get my fix, and the guild requires maintenance to jump start it to a point where there's a chance of me getting it, but I'm hardly inspired to put in that work.

And, well, Petruchio's gone, ish. The other person who played a good one-on-one campaign with me was Srulu in 2003. Then Petruchio earlier this year. Not good statistics; I almost wish we hadn't met so I wouldn't have been reminded that this dream I gave up could be fullfilled - only to have to give it up again. And that sucks; Playing that with him was so very nice, and believe me, the simple phrasing does no justice to the fierce addiction it briefly quenched.

With the title being Simon and Garfunkel, I might as well envelope it to match: If I never loved, I never would have cried.

So much for not doing that, I guess.

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