12 April 2000

Well, I'm back. Sortof. Maybe. I'm still slightly achey, and I have no appetite, and if heroin chic could be fat, I'd be it, baby. My skin is pale, my hair is limp, my eyes are puffy and dark and sunken and red all at the same time.

But I lost weight. Apparently if you spend four or five days doing nothing but lying in bed and eat nothing in that time but most of a bowl of soup (which you then proceed to throw up), a handful or two of grapes (most of which you throw up), a half-dozen or so forkfuls of rice (choked down only because your spouse is convinced this is more nutritious than milk) and most of a gallon of milk, you lose weight. Your muscles atrophy until you can barely stand in the shower, but you lose weight.

I spent all of Saturday and most of Sunday in bed, mostly dozing. I got up a couple of times to check my e-mail, and a few times more to go to the bathroom. When I made my shaky way down the stairs Sunday evening, thinking I might be strong enough to watch TV, I greeted the living room, "Wow... So this is downstairs..."

I decided that the painkillers the emergency room had given me were practically useless. Sure, they brought the fever down to something manageable. Sure, they eased the pain in my neck and shoulders. But they didn't do a damn thing for my head, and as far as I was concerned, that was the real reason I had gone in. To make matters worse, the headache was so constant, it wouldn't let me get all the way to sleep. I could drop as far as REM sleep, but the pain was so overriding, I couldn't relax into anything deeper, or even hold onto REM sleep for more than about an hour and a half at a time - and that was a night, with no lights, noises, or other distractions. (I'm bad, I confess; I looked forward to Matt going to work Monday morning so I wouldn't wake up every time the floor creaked when he came to check on me.)

So Monday I went back to my regular doctor (with Matt's help) and whined at him. I told him I'd cheerfully kill someone if I thought it would get me eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. My doctor has a pretty good bedside manner - cheerful and sympathetic at the same time. He confessed they still weren't sure exactly what this was - sinus infection or virus or even both. He made me move my neck and decided that meningitis was Right Out. (Didn't we already decide that at the hospital?)

He poked and prodded and took a lot of notes, and then he gave me another prescription for the same painkiller, but this time told me I could take two of them at a time. And another prescription for a sleeping pill. And suggested I buy a laxative.

"I'm not constipated!"

He poked at my abdomen again and watched me wince.

"I haven't eaten anything solid since Friday!"

"Just take it."

Oh, hell, why not; we've already spent like $75 on drugs and special foods for me so far. What the heck. Line 'em up, doc!

Matt's irritated that they still don't know what it is. My opinion? Computers are complicated enough; I'm doing well if I can narrow down the possible problems to two or three after a couple of diagnostics. Of course, I was too miserable to be worried, so Matt was worrying enough for the both of us. He's not especially logical when he's indignant over my well-being. It's cute.

I went home and took my last two Vicodin from the hospital's prescription, and half an hour later was blissfully aware that the headache's intensity had reduced by at least half. If I laid very, very still, I could get as much as three or four minutes without any pain at all. Heaven.

I had to give the MeadeHall a miss on Monday. It was just as well, considering the state of Matt's computer. I tried to sit in for a while, just reading over Matt's shoulder. But Matt reads a little faster than I do at the best of times, and I had a headache and was on drugs, which meant I had to look at each word three times before it made sense. And Matt was bouncing around between two public chat windows, a couple of private conversations, and the webpage he was browsing. I couldn't keep up. So I said goodnight and went to bed.

Monday night I got four hours of sleep at a stretch. That was nice. Then I made the mistake of thinking, "Oh, I'll just skip my 3AM painkillers. I don't want to get up. I'll just wait until 7." Seeing as how I'd made this mistake both previous nights, I don't know how I managed to convince myself I could do that. I managed to doze for about two more hours, then spent the rest of the night waiting for the moment when I could prod Matt's shoulder and ask him to get me something to take my drugs with.

I took no chances. I spent all day Tuesday drugged out of my mind. It felt really, really good. I still didn't want to eat anything, but to make Matt feel better, I had a slice of buttered bread around 5 - 7. (Yes, it took me two hours to eat a single slice of bread. We're not in this for speed records, okay?)

Around 10 or so, I thought I might be just barely on the edges of hungry. I wanted something warm. It took me half an hour to decide if it was worth getting out of bed for, but I eventually clambered down the stairs and reheated the same tomato soup leftovers that had been in the 'fridge since Friday afternoon. (After I skimmed the skin off, of course.)

By the time I'd finished that, it was almost time for the season finale of The Soporanos - what the heck? Violence and betrayal are sure to make a fantastic backdrop for my fever-dreams. (I'd had some great ones, too. I dreamed I was talking on the MeadeHall, only instead of just talking, or typing what I was saying, I said things out loud that turned into text on the screen. I kept forgetting to put the double-colon "action indicator" on my actions, and then I'd have to back up and do them over again. Another time I dreamed I was eating Corn Pops, with very cold milk. The last one I remember, I was sitting in a giant Easter basket eating Silly Sours Jelly Bellies. Matt offered to get me Corn Pops and Jelly Bellies when I told him about those. Poor guy. It was really driving him crazy that I didn't want to eat.)

Toward the end of The Soporanos (and boy, talk about fever dreams!) I realized that I was overdue for my next painkiller, but that I was still feeling... okay. Not great - a little achey around the edges, a little cloudy in the brain - but not miserable. I wondered if the drugs were lasting longer, or if I was actually getting better.

I took only a single painkiller along with the nighttime complement, let Matt settle himself... I fell asleep quickly, and didn't wake up again until 5 AM! Five hours of sleep! Uninterrupted, no weird special-clarity dreams, no waking up when Matt rolled over! Let there be joy and dancing in the streets! And the pain? The single pain-killer should certianly have worn off in that time... But the pain is a dull ache behind my eyes if I stare at something too long or too hard (it's taking me a long time to write this up today) and the band of pressure across my forehead that's not comfortable, but hardly painful.

So, in the interest of hopefully not having to completely abandon my summer plans, I thought I'd try to come in to work. I have a plastic baggie full of Advil to help with the remaining fever and pain, and I think as long as I don't push things too hard, I'll be okay. (I sure hope so. I need to work late to make up some of these hours.)

And just to give credit where credit is due... Many many many thanks go to Matt, who drove me places I didn't want to go, ran errands for me, brought me food I wouldn't eat, and tried very hard to stay out of my way so I could rest. My appreciation, also, to Karen, K.T., and Greg, who wrote e-mail and sent e-get-well-cards, and to Jeff and the other people who called to see how I was doing, even if Matt didn't wake me up so I could talk to any of you.

Oh, and for Braz, who has this uncanny ability to log off his computer less than two minutes after I log on - even if my "logging on" is just walking into the room where Matt's using the computer - Relax, will ya? That's not how you get computer viruses! ;-)

Now, if I can just figure out where I left my appetite...

Word of the Day: substantive - considerable in amount or numbers; creating and defining rights and duties; involving matters of major or practical importance to all concerned

Oh, my brain's too slow for this today. Besides, I know what substantive means. I've even used it in a sentence of my own volition before. What if I just say that I knew you missed me, and wanting to get back to my beloved journal was a substantive part of my recovery? (Okay, how about this, then: I have a substantive pile of drugs at home.)

7 April 2000

Advil is my friend. The headache refuses to subside entirely, but at least with a few Advil in my system it's a quiet pounding in my forehead. When the Advil wear off, the pounding spreads to my temples and behind my eyes. Rapid change of position sends steel spikes in through my temples and eye-sockets. My neck is so stiff and sore I can only turn my head about sixty degrees in either direction, and even that's painful.

But there's no sniffling, no sore throat, no upset stomach... I wish I knew what the hell this was. If it isn't gone by Monday, I'll call the doctor.

Since I spent yesterday moving slowly and trying to avoid anything involving complex thought, there's not much to tell. I went home early, around 2:30, and spent several hours lying on the couch watching videos and eating Girl Scout cookies. After Matt got home, we had a brief discussion about whether I was allowed to skip dinner, but I didn't have enough energy to fight about it, so I ate. I went to bed around 8:30, waking up a little when Matt came to bed at 10:30, and waking up a lot with the shakes around 4:30 when the cat wanted to be put out. I took some more Advil (ambrosia, I swear!) and went back to bed until I blearily realized that the thing talking to me was my alarm clock at 6.

To make up the hour I missed yesterday, I'm supposed to work until 4:30 today. However, since the company foolishly asks us to turn in our timecards for the week no later than 9:30 AM on Fridays, no one is likely to notice if I slip out a little earlier than necessary. We'll see how things go.

Word of the Day: gadzookery - the use of archaic speech patterns

I admit, a little gadzookery is fun in its place. It's part of the charm of roleplaying to say "aye" instead of "yes" or to call each other "milord" and "milady." I once developed a crush on a guy I met at a sci-fi convention because he'd bowed over my hand and said, "Charmed," instead of nodding and saying, "Nice to meetcha."

But it has its place. In "real" life, that kind of talk would only make me nervous.

8 April 2000

I've been lying horizontal for most of the past twenty hours or so. I thought I'd see if sitting up for a little while improved things, and so you - lucky you! - are getting a bonus journal entry out of it!

I went home from work yesterday at noon, after deciding there was no way I could make it to the end of the day. I slept or dozed for most of the afternoon. When Matt came home, he found the thermometer for me and I took my temperature: 102.4. I haven't had a fever that high in ten years, since the time I went to work at the movie theater with the flu.

Matt called my doctor's office and asked the answering service to page the doctor on call. About half an hour later, she called back, and I described my symptoms. She told me to try taking the maximum safe dosage of Advil - four. She said if things didn't improve, I should call back this morning and come in to see her; and if things got worse, I should go to the emergency room.

I took the four Advil around 7. At 8, I took my temperature again, and it had gone up - to 102.8. Matt drove me to the hospital.

The hospital, despite being not very busy, was slow. But after I'd been triaged, they put me in an isolated room. Until, they said, they'd ruled out meningitis as a possible cause. If I hadn't been in so much pain, I'd have been scared witless. The doctor came in after a while and made me feel better, saying that he thought it was just a sinus infection, but they had to be sure. He told me someone would be in shortly to take some blood for tests and to x-ray my head.

...Okay, I think I've just discovered which drug I'm allergic to. Yuck. I hate throwing up.

At any rate, it was almost an hour later that a very nice nurse (that I thought looked a little like Jodie Foster) came in to give me some Tylenol 3 and put a hole in my arm. She started checking the veins in my hand, and I told her my story about getting the IV in my hand when I had my wisdom teeth out. She promised not to put a needle in me unless she was sure it would work, and to look higher on my arm first. Astonishingly, she found the vein in my elbow and nailed it on the first try. I was profusely grateful.

She collected enough blood to feed a small colony of vampires, then brought Matt in to sit with me. Another half-hour later, another nurse came in and wheeled my bed down to radiology for the xrays. That was slightly painful, since the radiologist had me turning my head into weird positions.

Then they wheeled me back into my room. I closed my eyes and tried to doze while Matt read the book he'd brought. A while later, the doctor came in and told me for sure I had a sinus infection behind my left eye, and we were just waiting for the bloodwork to be done before they released me. He promised it wouldn't be more than fifteen minutes.

An hour later, he came in to apologize and explain that he hadn't known one of the tests took an hour to complete. He had another nurse come in and give me another Tylenol 3 and a horse-pill of an antibiotic, and take my temperature again. My temp was down to 100.2, which was welcome news.

About ten minutes later, the nurse came back with two prescriptions - one for the antibiotic, and one for Vicodin, for the pain. She also brought me enough Vicodin to get me through the night, and a form for me to sign so I could leave. By this time, it was almost 12:15.

Matt drove me home again, though the ride made me slightly nauseous. I trundled upstairs to check my e-mail before going to bed (I'm such a junkie) and just as I was finished with that, I threw up. Luckily, I was able to get to the bathroom before spraying anything. I got up twice more during the night with the dry heaves, which is almost worse.

Not being sure what caused it, I didn't take any more drugs until morning, when I could get Matt to go downstairs and bring me something to eat with the Vicodin. The Vicodin isn't actually helping with the pain much, but it helps me sleep and isn't making me sick. About noon or so, Matt brought me my drugs from the pharmacy, and I took the antibiotic. Around 1:15, I got up to see if that would help things any, and twenty minutes later, writing this entry, I threw up again. This time was much worse, so Matt called the doctor's office again, and I explained everything to the doctor, and she promised to call in a new antibiotic for me. I guess I'll have to send Matt out yet again.

Matt, by the way, has been lovely and wonderful and sympathetic. Just to give credit where credit is due. (I love you, sweetie.)

By the way, let not my suffering dampen Jeff's birthday! Send him an e-card or something, at least! Happy birthday, Jeff!

6 April 2000

Yesterday when I got home from work, I decided I should get my ass in gear and pay the bills that I've been putting off for a couple of weeks. I pulled out the checkbooks, sat down at the dining table, and did it. Then I glanced through my checkbook register and realized I hadn't reconciled my checkbook in three months.

There was a time when I was extremely diligent about these things. I paid bills as soon as they arrived; I did the math in the checkbook register immediately after writing the check; and I reconciled my checkbook as soon as I got the bank statement.

Working at 3GI, we got paid twice a month, and so that's when I paid the bills. I got lazier and lazier about doing the reconciliation - perhaps because doing it in Quicken made it so much easier. Or maybe just because I got lazy. I don't usually leave the math in the register for more than a week or so, and I've never bounced a check yet... But I've been late with the bills enough to have paid perhaps $20 or so in late fees.

I know, I know - hardly criminal. After all, there are plenty of people who are perpetually late paying their bills, who never do their math or reconcile their statements, and these people seem to get along just fine.

But it bothers me a little. So anyway, when I realized how long it had been since I reconciled my checkbook, I lugged everything upstairs to the computer, scrounged up the bank statements back to December, and started entering checks into Quicken. This took well more than half an hour since Matt came home while I was in the middle of it. I entered everything, then went through three reconciliations, and when I looked up, I'd been home for almost two hours and had been working steadily the whole time - but everything was neat and clean again.

Working on our computer in the late afternoon and early evening means fighting the sun that comes in through the window to read the screen. As a result, I had a mild headache when I headed down to the kitchen to start dinner. The headache didn't go away.

After dinner, I got back on the computer and - much to my delight - found several e-mails from Braz, who'd finally found the time to get caught up on the various e-mails we've been sending around on the Hall plot. While I was answering those, he logged on to IM and we chatted for a while.

I'd promised Matt he could check his mail, so when I finished answering the e-mail, I said good night to Braz and called Matt to come and take the taunting Braz wanted to give him about the Cubs.

I went downstairs to watch TV. Nothing was on. I pulled out the next Babylon 5 tape, but when I saw what the next episode was, decided it was too much for my aching skull. I took a couple of Advil, then laid on the couch and idly watched the Cubs/Cardinals game.

A little while later, Matt came down and told me K.T. wanted to talk to me on IM about her recent Hall plot, so I dragged myself up and went back upstairs. My eyeballs were beginning to throb.

While I was chatting with K.T., I tried to crack my neck, and instead of a quiet pop! and a release of tension, I got a sudden muscle spasm and the sensation that the muscles in my neck were one gigantic bruise.

"If I didn't know better," I told K.T., "I'd swear I had the flu."

It occured to me to wonder whether I had a fever - the symptoms were certainly all there. I shuffled into the bedroom, found the thermometer, and stuck it in my mouth. Then I pulled it out of its case and tried again.

A couple of minutes later, I pulled it out. 100. And this after a dose of Advil. The headache was not subsiding. I made my apologies to K.T., wished her a good night, and went to bed.

It seems to be mostly gone this morning. I've still got a whisper of a headache and my neck muscles are still stiff, but I feel much better. I have no idea what that was, or where it came from. I recall Becky complaining a few days ago that she felt sick, but she wasn't feverish; she just had a sore throat.

Spring fever, maybe.

Word of the Day: ambrosia - food or ointment of the gods; something extremely pleasing to taste or smell

I made a new recipe last night, courtesy of Braz's wife, Kris: Apple Chicken. It's not a combination I'd have thought of on my own - especially putting cinnamon on chicken - but it turned out fantastic. I adapted the recipe very slightly, cubing the chicken before I cooked it and then using a little corn starch to thicken the sauce, but Matt and I both agreed, it was a definite "keeper" recipe.

The onions, which had been cooked in apple juice and cider vinegar, were almost sharp to the taste, contrasting perfectly with the cinnamon on the chicken. A hint of brown sugar kept the sauce from being too tangy, and the sauce lent flavor to the rice.

If I'd used a tarter apple, it would've been pure ambrosia.

5 April 2000

I got an e-mail yesterday from a reader who thought I ought to know that excessive burping is one of the early signs of pregnancy.

My first reaction was Please, oh merciful Mother, no. Then I thought about it and decided that the timing of certain events (none of which you want to know about, I'm sure) made that hypothesis unlikely in the extreme, even if I wasn't on birth control.

But if it doesn't stop soon, maybe I'll go buy a $10 drugstore kit. Just to be sure...

Braz and I have been having something of an ongoing conversation about the characters that live in our heads. No, you didn't get a warning MeadeHall graphic because - while this conversation has been inspired by the current MeadeHall plot, it's not really about that plot. (At least, what I'm going to talk about isn't.)

The characters that I really care about take on their own lives inside my head. Sometimes, it even seems that they have thoughts and actions and personalities separate from my own. It doesn't happen all that often, but when it does, controlling those characters is next to impossible. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I tend to create strong-willed characters.

The first character who truly lived in my head was Caroline. I'd had unruly characters before, but I usually managed to drag them into line. Caroline absolutely put her foot down and refused to go where I wanted to drag her. This was even more of a problem because that story was being written in concert with Matt, who owned Graham, and Graham, too, refused to go where Matt pointed him. No, Graham wasn't going to just "get over" the fact that his best friend had been turned into a vampire, because it frankly scared the shit out of him. No, Caroline wasn't going to "admit" that she was in love with Graham, because she wasn't, and never had been. (Lust, maybe, but not love.)

MeadeHall characters get into my head very easily, I suppose because they're role-played, so I have to let them in to some degree. And, as I said, I create strong-willed characters, so once they get their foot in that door...

I created Maeli to be the antithesis of most of the Hall's patrons - she was extremely old, had never been an adventurer, and had lived her life in one place, always doing the "proper" thing. When I created her, my idle intent was that she'd let one of the powerful patrons revitalize her, and then she'd go adventuring, the way she'd always wanted to do.

She was having none of it. Sure, she'd always wanted to go adventuring. But she'd decided to stay home and marry and raise a family and by the gods, that's what she did. She'd had a full life, and she had no intention of letting some over-powered whippersnapper go fooling around with it. (Did I mention she was a crotchety old bag?) I fought with her over it for weeks, but finally accepted her wishes - and in understanding, she let me decide when she'd go.

Now, Braz and I are both getting overwhelmed by the current plot. Braz is wrestling with not one, but two characters - both of whom are getting their jollies by only telling him just enough to confuse and disorient him. I created Zoya specifically with a lack of romance in mind, but when Marten showed up, Zoya told me she thought it was about time to get over her past, and move beyond it.

Yesterday, Braz and I were chatting on IM about various things, and he told me about a vision Marten had shown him. Zoya's actually much smarter than I am, but she's still not very good with people or relationships, and she jumped to conclusions. I spent at least an hour arguing with her about possible alternative interpretations of that vision (Braz, conveniently, had to leave almost immediately after telling me about it) until she finally accepted that it didn't have to be disastrous. She's still feeling a little suspicious, though. I warned Braz to have a long talk with Marten.

So what's the point to all this? I don't know, really. This thing has been out of my control for weeks. I'm just looking forward to the ride.

Word of the Day: baroque - characterized by grotesqueness, extravagance, complexity, or flamboyance

If it's baroque, fix it! Ha!

Well, seriously. I don't like ornate, extravagant decorations. I really never have. I protested loudly about the bedskirt on my bed when I was a kid. I hated ruffles, and I hated the color pink, and I don't know what my mother was thinking when she brought me a pink ruffle that went all the way around my bed. I like simple lines, elegant curves, and clean edges. I'm a proponent of function over form and comfort over appearance.

4 April 2000

 It's Tuesday - time for the weekly MeadeHall update! Last night was pretty choppy, actually - several people kept getting disconnected. I don't know if the server was a little goofy, but I do know Matt's modem and/or computer seem to be slowly sliding into oblivion. He was extremely unhappy about it - I think he'd been looking forward to participating, since Braz had sent him a clue for Jaret.

At any rate, with Matt fuming, I decided I'd rather run late and go to bed after him than go to bed first wondering how long he'd stew. So - and I'm sure this will just shock your socks off - Braz and Karen and I had a pick-up session after the regular Hall ended.

Those events didn't officially happen last night - they're happening later this week, in the MeadeHall universe. But we were having fun. It speaks for the sorts of friends that we all are that on one channel, Marten, Glossaria, and Lisl (yeah, Karen twice) were having a discussion on Daoist philosophy (don't ask. really.) while on the pick-up channel, the three of us plus Jeff, who stuck around for a while to chat, were inventing bizarre and peculiar insults. (Along the lines of "Nerf herder!" from Star Wars. Don't ask. Really.)

Anyway, Braz handed out a bucket of clues for us, and once Zoya recovers enough to process things, she'll be looking into certain matters rather carefully. Glossaria agreed to become Zoya's apprentice as a priestess of Erdian, and so Zoya will no longer be "high" priestess by virtue of being Erdian's only priestess. Vallel ate a lobster. (Shut up. It was funny as hell.) And Zoya got a letter from Tyl, which she'll be responding to, um, today. Before the stuff that we worked out last night takes place. Gotta love time-distorted plots.

So, it was about 11:45 yesterday, and I had my supervisor at my computer helping me look for some stupid problem, when the phone rang. It turned out to be Jim, who had decided he absolutely must leave the office for lunch today, and did I want to join him and Becky?

Well, I had a sandwich in the 'fridge leftover from the game on Saturday, but what the heck? I said sure, and went with Jim and Becky to Second Street for lunch. We had a grand time, and I came back to the office to discover that my supervisor hadn't figured out what was causing the inexplicable problem, but had found a workaround. I labeled the workaround as such and went on with my day.

Around 2:45, Matt called. He was at home, about to go to a 3GI company party. (I know what the occasion was, but if I told you, I'd have to kill you. When the press release comes out, I'll post a summary and link.) At any rate, it was big news for the company, and the president, TG, was treating the entire office to drinks, appetizers, and food ... at Second Street.

Matt said that some other spouses were coming, and since I'd recently been a 3GI employee and had so many friends still on the staff, he thought I'd be welcome. I wasn't entirely certain that would actually be the case, but I agreed to stop by when I left work. But actually, when I got there and said hello to Matt, I wound up exchanging a little friendly banter with TG himself. So I made the rounds, greeting old friends and acquaintances, and finally wound up at a table with Jeremy and Elizabeth. We talked briefly about the company news, and I ordered a Tom Collins to sip on while we chatted.

I made a mistake. Tom Collins mix is heavier than gin, and I was drinking through a straw. So as I sipped, I got mostly mix... and then suddenly, nothing but gin. Yuck. So, of course, I had to order another. Shortly after that, I made my way back to Matt's table and sat there eating his french fries in a desperate attempt to equalize my blood-alcohol level so I could drive home.

I was still slightly tipsy when we went to the grocery store an hour later. But that was boring enough to mostly sober me back up.

Word of the Day: lavation - the act or an instance of washing or cleansing

"Lavation." It's got a ritual - almost religious - feel to it, doesn't it? Maybe because it sounds so much like "libation." This can't be something as common as simple washing up, can it? It's a reverent-sounding word, I think. "I take a shower every day, but once a week indulge in a much longer and more elaborate lavation."

Ah, well. Don't forget, after visiting the lavatory, to take your hands to the sink for a lavation. And use lavish amounts of soap.

Update! The press has released. The short version is that the division of 3GI for which Matt works has been sold to another company, called Maximus. All in all, I think it's a good thing. There are some downsides, of course, but most everything has downsides.

3 April 2000

Happy April, everyone! I didn't participate in any April Fool's jokes, on either end. One of the journals I read posted that he was quitting, and even included something to the effect of, "I know it's suspicious that I'm doing this on April Fool's Day, but I really mean it!" My thought at the time was that I'd wait until the next day to see what happened, and sure enough, he posted again on Sunday.

I had a good weekend, if not a great one. The Globetrotters show Friday night was a lot of fun, even the weird racing-dogs halftime show.

Saturday Matt and I puttered around - ran errands, staked bits of our tree, goofed around on the computer. We went over to K.T.'s for the weekly game around 5, but we didn't really get any gaming done. It was Kevin's birthday, so we all had cake and ice cream, which got us all silly and hyper, and Kevin seemed more interested in playing with his toys, and Mike was still working on his character at 9. (Though to be fair we took about an hour and a half to go get dinner.)

It was fine with me. About half the reason I game is for the social interaction, and we were having a lot of fun. Matt had really been in the mood to game, though, and he was a little grumpy about it. When - for no apparent reason - his allergies kicked in, we all packed it in. We went home, changed the clocks, and went to bed.

Sunday was even slower. We did the laundry, watched some videos, read some books. I re-potted my herb garden, took a nap, and checked my mail obsessively, since I was hoping for an update on the Hall situation from Braz. It never did come, alas. Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll have a slow day at work.

Why can't I have normal problems? For the past four or so days, I've been constantly burping. Well, not constantly, of course, but at least once every ten minutes or so. It doesn't seem to be affected by anything I'm eating or drinking or doing, and it's kindof annoying. Matt thinks it's kindof funny (he's been trying to teach me how to burb "like a boy") but he's not the one with the constant bubble in his throat. I hope it goes away soon. If anyone out there has any clue what might be causing it, for petesake, tell me!

Word of the Day: peripatetic - of or related to walking; itenerant

As much as I hate to say it, I can see myself becoming the sort of perpetual job-hunter that my father was when I was young. We never actually moved, but Dad had a new job every two or three years. He was never really satisfied with the place he was - always looking for something more.

Despite the corporate climate of today, which favors that sort of peripatetic lifestyle, I actually want to find a company that I think will do right by me - a company that I would be willing to stay with through retirement. My dad found that company in Logicon - he's almost fanatically loyal, now, and has been for over fifteen years.

I thought I'd found that company in 3GI. I enjoyed my work there, most of the time, and thought I was lucky to have found such a great job in such a great company, immediately out of college. And then, of course, 3GI laid me off.

Matt was telling me the other day that one of the managers over at 3GI was asking him if I'd ever consider coming back. Matt told him he didn't think so. And he's probably right - after all, 3GI certainly made it clear to me that it didn't especially value my skills. Why would I want to go back to work for them when it's been made obvious that I'm expendable and will be laid off again when they run into more trouble?

On the other hand...

That's the current corporate climate. I was only burned so bad because I'd been taken in (foolish child that I was) by the optimistic manager-bullshit. No other company is going to value my loyalty, either. And the thought of going back is tempting... I may re-evaluate my position when I've been here at Logicon for a while.