I was preparing to go out on a dreary Sunday afternoon, when something profound happened.

I got four paragraphs into writing something before I realized that it would serve nobody but myself to post. Nobody would derive any benefit from it, and I'd feel like a whiny sap for posting it. So I deleted it.

I do that a lot. That's why you don't hear much from me.

Tags: psychobabble, rant

Current Location: home

Current Mood: morose

The Franklin Covey binder is fairly common where I work. This in itself isn't strange, even though everyone also has Microsoft Outlook. It's a low-tech solution, sure, but it doesn't misplace your appointments, contact lists, or e-mail whenever the LDAP server goes down, which judging by my experience is about one time in five.

It should be noted, though, that the Franklin Covey system adds an insidious twist to the ideal of personal organization. Outlook will let you schedule meetings and whatever you want, no matter how pointless they may be. The Franklin Covey system has the audacity to try to get you to organize yourself.

Tags: psychobabble, rant

Current Location: home

Current Mood: depressed

As is often true with my increasingly infrequent dreams, this one came in two parts. And they have nothing that I can see to do with each other.

The Dreams

Part the First

The first part consisted of me visiting a college campus somewhere and being asked to take a look at something. It was easily as tall as, and 5-7 times as wide as, your average grandfather's clock. It had some baroque woodwork and numbering in a 18th-19th century style. And while there was a normal-sized clock face in the top center of it, there were a few dozen other dials whose significance was lost on me at the time.

There was very little in the way of mechanism behind it all. Behind that top grandfather clock face, there was a teeny tiny little hourglass, no larger than an egg-timer. We were sure it was critical to the operation of the thing, but we couldn't see how.

Part the Second

At some point, we had a part off the clock, and a mouse crawled out (at that point, it was mouse-sized). I picked it up (at that point, it was housecat-sized and I could see it was missing patches of fur) and tried to get rid of it outside, but I was too busy running around and avoiding the swarms of bumblebees that were erupting from the ground. I remember getting stung in the knee once, but it didn't hurt for some reason.

I buy a lot of roleplaying games. Most of them which I have I've never even played. I'm more like a collector, buying this system for its hokey setting and buying that for its novel system. Or sometimes I just do it compulsively, snarfing up something that looks neat. Rarely do I buy anything until it's popular; I bought Vampire before it was really popular, shunned it for all that time that it was the thing to play at LARPs, and finally, when the furor over the genre was at last dismissed as the preening, pretentious posturing that it was, I bought the post-"apocalypse" version. And Werewolf. And Mage.

Recently I ordered a bunch of independents which looked interesting, plus there was the chance that I'd be playing in one of them and wanted to do some clean-up on my character. One thing I find those sorts of indy games are good for is getting you to think...

Tags: games, psychobabble

Current Location: home

Current Mood: depressed