October 28, 2008

I have something to confess: I now play World of Warcraft (or, as I’ve learned, WoW). It started simply enough, when I humoured R. for his birthday by agreeing to a free three-week trial. That was months ago, and I’m still playing.  I’ve moved past my initial uncertainty about throwing fireballs at boars who were just minding their own business, but that isn’t yet the same thing as knowing what I’m doing.  I still wander randomly into a forest, turn my avatar around a few times to figure out where I am, and in the midst of killing things that attack me, eventually find whatever I’m supposed to be after.  I check maps a lot, and seem to have just as poor a sense of direction in virtual life as in real life. I have two characters (I can’t yet bring myself to call them toons) – a sly redheaded mage that I play with one of R.’s, and a muscular hunter elf that I play on my own.  The latter has just recently tamed a pet bear, now named Borus, which increases his killing sprees immensely. To my surprise, I’m enjoying this.  It handily diverts me from thinking about how I’m not drinking in the evening, and I’ve even had a WoW-styled dream.  I can see how the game gets addictive.  So there you have it – geekdom really is a slippery slope.

More notes about Alice

October 12, 2008

My bassadorable dog continues to go straight for the eyes of any unattended stuffed animals.  She can smell a just-opened banana at fifty paces, and will bounce excitedly until she gets a piece.  A tennis ball was of little interest when I suggested it, yet as soon as R. touched it the ball became fun.  She will mash her face into the closest soft object rather than watch me play with the latest little kitten that wanders into the house. Everything on the ground is potentially edible. Spooning in the morning is tolerated only if she can be in the middle.  Car rides are hotly anticipated, and she will take any open car door as an invitation.  Peanut butter is the best thing ever.

Slow motion

October 9, 2008

Notwithstanding that Friday is an hour away, this week feels unending.  I think back to Monday and it’s like trying to remember what I was doing on a particular day in the middle of last month.  The grinding repetitive revision of a grant application – into four succinct, clever, clear, fundable pages – knowing that these competitions are always crapshoots, not wanting to think about next year yet.
I curl up in the evenings now with a cup of tea rather than glass of wine, as the purse strings are stretched so tight that only a bottle a week can squeeze through.  This doesn’t help time pass.  Neither does the damnably optimistic sunshine and temperate weather, which makes me want to stretch my legs along the balcony and daydream about disposable income and faraway deadlines.  Sigh.