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You can still contact me at svaha@iki.fi

30 Mar 04: Holed Up

Unwilling to move. Sleeping most of the time. Read Pratchett's Wee Free Men and decided I really have grown out of his style. Now reading Julian May's Magnificat, finally (I read the earlier books years ago, but was disappointed in how they got progressively less captivating and just gave up, but I got to borrow this one from Vera and thought it was time to see how it ended). There's still some Pratchett and some Peter F. Hamilton (from Suvi) waiting in the pile.

Waiting for the worst sense of loss to pass and some energy to return.

29 Mar 04: Coping, Or...

I have had the great blessing of not having had to be alone much since I broke on Monday night. I've had friends come over, at first, when I was incapable of mostly anything but sleep, and towards the end of the week, ask me over just to spend some quiet time (with movies, good food, and moderate, but very welcome, amounts of alcohol). I've been allowed to just be, and it's helped ever so much.

Now, however, I am alone and awake at home, and have no way of escaping the loss that is pouring over me like water into the Titanic. Except I still hope not to go down, not all the way. I still want to live, not die - as surprising as it is, even to myself. That even for Faerun, I do not want to die.

By now, you should know that I am not joking when using that verb.

I have very much wanted to write about this whole thing, to help my recovery from this crash, but I have deliberately refrained from doing so out of respect for others in the project, as dirty laundry is never nice, no matter whose. This is definitely one of the downsides of choosing to have a socially self-moderated blog instead of a completely open one: it does not exactly serve for letting out steam and for furthering self-understanding in the most difficult issues (because at least for me, in this age and stage, those mostly come about in dealings with other people). But I guess it's somewhat fair exchange for not hurting other people by too quick words.

Still, for those scattered readers who don't follow the scene of my hobby or have some other line to my private life, a quick recap. The Faerun project got into problems. I was persuaded to try and work through anyway, against my better judgement. I tried, I really tried, but finally my strength simply ran out. I had a bad depression relapse, was put on sick leave, and no-one else had the time or resources to see it through. Atte did not deem it acceptable to postpone the game (as I wanted to do), and so it was cancelled.

That's it in a nutshell. I am terrified that people in the scene will now take this as a case against me ever being able to complete anything without coming apart. Or that I just was too lazy to see it through. Depression is, after all, still seen as something not quite real - not much more than incompetent people trying to hide their incompetence. People forget it is a lethal condition. And they especially seem to tend to forget this with me, as I've been talking about it so long. I still don't think others in the project quite figured that when I was considering suicide as an honourable way out, I was being quite serious. (Yes, it got that bad.)

But then again, it's almost accepted in the hobby that at least one person will have a (real, serious) breakdown in the process of organizing a game (at least a bigger one). I think this assumption should finally be questioned and seen as the absurdity it is. What kind of a hobby is it if someone needs to risk their life for others to have fun?

As to what things actually happened in the process to cause my relapse, that will remain private. I hope. And I am terribly unhappy about the work others did that ended up being in vain (particularly Heli). Still, no matter what some may think, this was - after all - more important to me than to anyone else, and the knowledge that it will not be, at all, ever, feels like someone had scooped a big hollow into my chest with an icecone.

And right now, I have nothing to distract me from that.

Yesterday, Nina called from Hong Kong. We talked a long time, mostly about the losses of both, and the state of health care in our respective countries. I was so glad to hear from her. Another thing that came at the right time to help with this latest crisis. Even if I can't set goals for all of my life, at least one goal I have is to get well enough to get back to ordinary life and work so as to have the money to visit her some time in the next two years or so. But we'll see. And hope.

24 Mar 04: Familiarity Of The Desert

I don't know how to cry anymore. Not even in the deepest panic and despair. Not even when going about the house all through the night trying to gather up courage to either die or live, like last week. This week, I feel that I don't want to die, but even fear of death won't bring on tears, like it should.

I think people might find it easier to understand if I could cry.

I also think I should not write for a while. Not until I get a bit better and get some perspective.

22 Mar 04: Sick

Migren day. Of course. And there is something wrong with the killeri.net net connection - it keeps being up only for minutes at a time - so I'd have to keep this short even if I wanted to write more, which I don't.

Important note to self: never, ever, ever again cave in and do something where you have to take care of the inspiration of several people who are not committed to the same inspiration. Or at least have the sense to recognize your error of judgement early enough. Now there's nothing to be done any more except to grin and bear it. Again.

Fuck. As usual, it's not the ache but the nausea. Back to the bathroom floor.

18 Mar 04: Say Hello Again, Smeagol!

God, I'm such a slave! I fall into pieces tinier than dust in the face of setbacks when something is mainly my own responsibility, but all it takes is someone playing the loyalty card, and I'm back and happily all business!

In other news, I went to see Turandot with Mom at the National Opera, since they had bought tickets, but Olli could not attend due to a work trip. It was jaw-dropping good. I've had the bad luck to catch rather uninspiring shows - or possibly just single uninspiring nights - at our Opera, but in this case there was absolutely no question that this was on the highest international level of quality. I am so glad I got to go, even in all this desperate hurry.

Even if the central dramatic moment made me huff in indignation, as it was eerily reminiscent of the scene we all know and love to hate between Buffy and Spike in a certain bathroom in a certain episode of season six...

I must also say that I dislike the current tendency of presenting operas in their original language. I guess the reasoning is that no-one comes in for the illusion of a story anyway - except that I do. I do. I am easy that way. No, it's not realistic, but it's convincing enough on a deeper, emotional level... that is, if the singers are at least singing in a language I understand and not in something I need to check in the translator board somewhere high above.

15 Mar 04: Edge

This really sucks. I don't want to write about the organizing process, as it's so hard and so desperate that it would just drive everyone away from the game - lose even the little bit of trust I may have retained, if any - but write about it is exactly what might, perhaps, help. And it would perhaps be good to have a truthful record of it all. Besides, I dunno, maybe everyone already knows how ridiculously painful the process always is for the GMs, particularly when measured against the often negligent pleasure of the result.

But it's still too painful and humiliating.

For the record, I spent all of last night arranging my things for, well, for leaving. I don't want to go into the details now. Suffice it to say that it seems very strongly an option even now, though I managed to pass the night in little tasks. Perhaps even more so now, when I actually am afraid enough to keep pushing the moment further with those little things.

Hmh. Probably not a bright idea to put this down either. Not exactly confident-inducing to read about the head GM considering terminal options, is it? But it only came about in the first place because of a specific lack of confidence that was dropped on me - on us - like another mountain on top of the rest.

No wonder certain people gave excuses to not see me this weekend.

After the hours of adrenalin last night, I fell asleep at an unreasonable hour again, and today all I've been good for has been lying on the sofa clutching my old teddybear and trying to think of any third option. I've had a couple of phone conversations, one with Mom and one with Heli, but neither of them can really be taken down the road to the place where I'm at right now.

12 Mar 04: ...And It's Getting A Bit... Bad

Not much to add to that.

No amount of meaningful work is going to make it okay if all I can feel is shunned and rejected. No amount of purpose is going to be meaningful enough.

I suppose it's no good anymore asking "Why doesn't anybody like me?" It's become clear enough that I'm just too irritating, too needy, too clingly, too difficult to be born. And, again, all that has come about mostly because of being left out in the first place. No, I'm not saying it's okay to blame others for being a clingy bitch. But that's what has happened, anyway.

And I don't know how to break this cycle anymore.

(Night) Bloody hell, now that I should and could be sleeping - having slept a poor five hours in the morning - I can't. Typical. Heli will drag me up around nine if she has any sense (we're pulling a double-shift weekend on writing), and then I'll try to be useful but end up being nothing but a zombie in the strings of a hyperactive puppetmaster all day.

Congratulations to Moira on leaving her gradu in. I'm so happy. (And see, I can even say the word by now...? After all, I've been obligated to set it down in two separate grants applications by now, if not for myself. I've often suspected, and now pretty much find confirmed, the cruel truth that I only work properly when forced to.)

P.S. Why have I not mentioned the horrifying bomb attacks in Madrid? Because I'd find it rather hypocritical to go about my sympathy for them if I can't do anything to better the situation in any way. I wasn't there, how could I know? How could I dare to say I understand? Describing how my heart weeps would, in the end, be nothing but another description of me, except at the expense of other people's real pain.

When at some stage I can do something, even if it's only a nickel a month for the Red Cross catastrophe fund, or some other way of backing my words of sympathy, then I can say them.

11 Mar 04: Painfully Isolated

I've been holed up inside for far too long, trying to work as hard as I can, but now I'm starting to go crazy for lack of any other activity. Not to mention that much-desired, much-denied human contact. It's not that I couldn't do something else, it's just that the game takes priority, of course, even though I don't even know why I'm doing this any more.

I had to give in to exhaustion - or I was just too down - and slept much more from Tuesday night to Thursday evening than I should have. I slept almost all of Wednesday, fell asleep on the sofa with Races of Faerun around two am, and still slept almost all of today. So now I really can't take a break. Except I suppose I soon have to, or I'll just flip. Or at least won't be able to work efficiently. Going back on the medication might also be nice, and wise, but I'm out of money, again. I hope I can be awake at the proper hour tomorrow morning to phone about the social support, but it won't, naturally, materialize at once. We'll see.

I feel really dumb now, about not having taken care of basic financial security earlier. I wouldn't have time to worry about that stuff right now in any manner - I don't have time for extra sewing; I'm worried over whether I can deliver on the promised stuff alone, and in any case none of that would happen instantly. Also, it's not just the medication: writing would be so much easier with comfort food, which, at the moment, I cannot afford. I cannot even afford healthy, strengthening food. And not knowing where I'm going to get tomorrow's meal tends to cause that oversleeping effect on me. For which, as we noted, I don't have time.

Even the nearly-eternal chicken soup finally met its end today.

I am not writing about this to beg for sympathy. Like I said, I just feel really, really stupid now. Before, I could always argue that in the end it was just my own problem whether I was in good shape or not. Now it isn't - it's going to be the problem of 135 people if I collapse. (Which I won't do. Or at least not until after the game. Earlier is not an option.

While on the computer, fiddling with the races and people file, I also kept one eye on "ER". For what I managed to follow, today's episode was not as good as last week's (which was disturbing and very well done), but it made a welcome bit of outside inspiration nevertheless. I've followed the series sporadically along the years - not much on the middle seasons though - but it's always been something I enjoy catching. Both Carter and Abby are extremely likable, and there's been some very touching storylines on the way. I also like it that there are other characters who are not in all senses likable, and that there clearly are personality conflicts where someone just plain doesn't like someone, just like in real life.

You know, this is really rather pitiful. I'm clearly just trying to prove I really am not self-absorbed, in continuation of yesterday's entry.

Maybe - possibly - I could deserve a breather tomorrow, or on Saturday. I wonder what Irrette is doing? I still have the final four episodes of Buffy to see. (I don't remember if I mentioned how I went there to watch the five last ones, a month or two ago - and could not stomach more after that fifth-last one. I just couldn't. Some things happened in it that made me feel more awful than anything in the series so far, even "The Body" or Tara's death. We talked about this at Qttiland, and something almost completely unrelated came up: I had never even realized that the main baddie in that episode is the same guy that plays the captain in "Firefly", which we had discussed just moments earlier. Then, I had proclaimed my complete and total lack of attraction to his looks and charisma (what charisma?)... but in the Buffy episode I thought he was very, very charismatic. Terrifying, but charismatic. I wonder if this should be taken as a further indication of my being completely and totally screwed up?)

Last night (day? I don't know) I dreamed of being back to Solmukohta, except it was not in a hotel but in a school. We were about to present a show, nothing was done, and could in no way be done in time by then. I remember starting to change clothes in one of the booths that had been arranged for us for the purpose alongside the hall where people were already sitting down for the show, and I suddenly realized I had forgotten to close the door, which was open to the audience. I also dreamed of a fantasy larp where I had some sort of organizational duties; I came to the site, where things were in full swing, and tried to find Anni, who was supposed to help me in some capacity, but she was nowhere to be found. I stepped aside a bit (but was still practically in the middle of players, and actually blocking the door to the portable toilet they had next to the wood shack), phoned her, she told me she was playing... and I realized I was in the wrong game, and that it was two weeks earlier than the game I was working for. Having carried on with this conversation in the hearing of several players, I then had to apologize profusely, and slunk away from the site in shame and horror...

Oh... I just remembered that I thought of going to SuoLi's spring meeting on Saturday. So that's the obligatory break, I suppose. However, it only happens if I get a ride from Jiivonen, who as I understand is ill at the moment, so the situation is open. If he gets well enough to go, I am going. It's the sort of a duty where everyone thinks it's not really that big a deal if they personally don't go, and then no-one ends up going, and I don't want to be that sort of a person.

10 Mar 04: Non-communicative

Not much energy left over from working on Faerun. Nothing much of interest, at least.

Reading other people's weblogs, again, I was hit by one of these sudden, ugly bits of insecurity (like arrows, not from the bow of Desire but Despair, in the exact Gaiman sense of the concepts) that my diary must seem terribly self-absorbed compared to those who write about what they've watched and read and link a lot. Despite what it looks like, it's not self-absorption, honestly; it's not that I find the stuff I write about myself to be in some (any) sense more important and absorbing than writing about outside things. It's that I don't rightly believe I can give any qualified opinions on most things that I come across. The only subject on which I can speak with authority is myself. So I write about what I know, and only about what I don't know when my judgement gets the better of me, as with LOTR during Christmas.

09 Mar 04: Slaving Away

I've been up all night, without pause, sending welcome emails with character descriptions (or waiting list emails) to all the Faerun players. 12 hours plus, no break. Next time, I will insist on those description lists when they were due and not try to write them myself (not that I couldn't, it just... takes... time...). And I will be wise enough to ask someone else to share the load of the process.

Anyway, it's done. The hardest part was, naturally, the last: sending those sorry-but-wish-we-could notes. It's awful to be disappointed, I know, so I hate to be the cause of disappointment, even if without actual fault from my part.

Too much work to do. I am so glad we got Wolven to help, or I would have collapsed under the load, no matter the amount of will or trying.

Sunday evening was really depressing, but now - a daunting amount of work ahead, but not altogether lacking hope.

Must sleep now. Absolutely necessary, or no use to anyone.

(Evening) Nothing seems to work to make me feel better about people or my relations to them anymore. I thought it would help to answer the invitation to go and hang out at Qttiland, but the end result was even more misery (not because of the Q's, never because of them, but that was the result anyway).

06 Mar 04: Slapped, Punching Right Back

Oohno, I am not even going to go into the debate over at Janka's blog. Nope, no way. Not even when people deliberately misunderstand what I'm trying to say, and are being so high-handed and holier-than-thou that -

*tsk*

Anyway, I didn't sleep enough, so it took me some time to get myself moving to take Ari his pirate jacket before a fantasy game he was in today. I did get it to him, all by myself even, in fair time before the start of the game, but I'm still scared that it's going to be another one of those "Kristiina got another costume done only after it was supposed to be at the game site" legends... I think the jacket (or vest? it's sleeveless) turned out tolerably, though I now feel I should have designed it more close-fitting from the beginning and not listened to Ari's approximate wishes at all. And again I cursed velvet and swore never to work with it again - until I remembered that I've promised to make Tiina a priestess tabard for Faerun out of white velvet.

When I got home, I was still fluish too tired to do much, and soon went to take a nap. Of course, the nap stretched far into the evening. When I woke up, Kalle told me Ropecon had not given us as much support as we had asked for. Well, unfortunately, the application was not made with extra fun and games in mind: we absolutely need that money. There's no air there. There are plenty of reasons why we can't do anything about the costs any more without compromising the whole concept, and it would be totally unfair for the players already in the campaign - many of them still at school - to raise the player fee for more than 100% (which we have to do already). Of course, I was upset and panicky about this, but Kalle told me it is possible to ask for reconsideration and to come and plead our case personally. So, after making many of my points again, more emphatically, to him, I decided I am going to do it. Naturally it terrifies me almost beyond comprehension, but I am still going to. This game deserves it. It's at the crossing point of several things we've wanted to do, or need to do, or need to consider, and we won't compromise. I talked to Atte tonight after his game, and he was quite adamant that we're going to see this through, one way or another.

It's a beautiful night out there: sparkly, frosty, with a full moon brighter than any streetlamp, and still with some indefinable sense of the coming spring already: not even the smell, as it's too cold, but some quality of airiness, of more space, or of space that streches its limits, ready to expand and open tears into infinity again.

One more thing before obligatory sleep. Something else happened today that made me mad, really, truly, seeing-red-turning-into-black mad. I don't think I've emphasized strongly enough, at least not for quite some time, how much exception I take with people giving shit to My People. I know I'm not the most thick-skinned person myself, but for myself I just curl up and whimper when someone gets nasty. For those I care about... well. Let's just say you can't expect much niceness from me if you are un-nice to one of mine. Or even fairness. When loyalty is in the other cup, no amount of fairness is going to so much as twitch my scales. And when I am fighting because of loyalty, there is no battleground I won't take. Absolutely none. So... don't fuck with my people. Just don't.

The world is not a happy-go-lucky place. It's not a place where you are rewarded for being generous and nice and giving, at least not for most of us. It's a place where you have to fight, every day, to be all those things despite everything else, despite even yourself. Where you have to balance on the edge of the knife of expectations and considerations and hurts and misunderstandings and lack of information, even at the best of times; even not taking into account needs and rejections and exhaustion and the demands of society and even basic survival. It's a place where every second hurts. It's a battlefield. I make a miserably inept warrior, but the one thing I am sure of is the knowledge of the dog that follows the warrior: I know where my place is when one of my pack is threatened. Between them and the threat.

And now, of course, readers can make ugly jokes about my choice of metaphor. I don't care. I may at some later age and day be able to pick my battles based on some other criteria. For now... no.

05 Mar 04: Defensive

Slept late, later even than expected. Been worried, worried, worried over Faerun. Nothing seems to be enough, or good enough. Pessimism is stomping on ...well, I won't say grave. Too loaded. Went to Kerava in the evening; hung out, ate, watched TV with Mom, Olli and Tuomas (the youngest son, the not-altogether-unattractive one). Did some sewing meanwhile. Watched Pirates of the Caribbean after they went to bed (they'd seen it before I got there). Despaired over ever finding someone who would cause even remotely the sort of flutters one can't avoid over Orlando the all-too-pretty (but, you see, only the pretty men do it for me - or the insanely charismatic ones; worse if the two are combined in one). (Anyway, I've ever experienced that over one person I've also been able to interest in any proper manner, and we all know how that turned out.)

However. I also feel really, really odd and really defensive over an issue Janka raised in her diary (oh, I can't be bothered to link, as I can't link to the proper entry anyway; you probably either have her linked or come here through her anyway). She thought I was weird for wanting to see a friend more often than maybe once in two weeks. And then other people thought so, too. And when I said that there are friends of whom one wants that and then there are friends one needs not see that often, keeping in touch in other ways, people went on to claim they don't see anyone that often. And - you know, guys, honestly, I think you are the odd ones. I think humans are social animals and need the company of others like them. Peer group, family, whatever - in our enlightened, liberated time it most often seems to be a very specific peer group, but the need is there nevertheless. There are those who have experienced so much of the (possible) negative effects of this group instinct that they take individualism to extremes, but - well, I think they're quite welcome to their way, but it should not be required of most of us. It's normal, healthy and okay to need other people.

I also think net communication cannot replace proper face-to-face contact. It's only a poor substitute, especially in the emotional sense. I wrote several sentences to try and explain why I feel like this, but - as this has clearly turned into some sort of a conversation - I don't feel like I can put this well enough, scientifically enough. I don't want to sound like a half-educated idiot. I just believe that real relationships include the non-verbal communication as well, and that those patterns need their own time and feedback to become workable, to become something one can draw emotional nourishment from. And they also need refreshing every now and then.

At times like these I don't particularly enjoy the interactive nature of the blog culture. Someone is going to attack me anyway, especially now that I've admitted this is a conversation, and I hate arguing.

(I also want to point out that I'm saying this as much to myself. Considering how difficult it is for me to dare to contact anyone - to intrude upon their time and trouble with my boring self, and don't make the mistake of thinking this is irony, because it bloody isn't - you may perhaps understand how hard it is for me to put out the claim that it is okay. I do believe, intellectually, that it is so, but whether I can believe it concerning myself and those I'd like to call friends... that is another matter. But I'm trying to learn.)

04 Mar 04: Continuous Murk

Still fighting a valiant trench-battle against the flu. Am probably on the winning side, though had to retreat several times into the no-zone of sleep and ineffectiveness. No therapy today, though. Nor much actual work done, though I've been trying to think about Faerun a lot, through the haze of fever and general aching. I know by now that my characters will probably be reasonably acceptable as interesting personalities - though beautiful short stories they will not make. I will not make. I refuse to destroy myself by attempting to write something like three hundred pages of glossy fiction, when that is neither what gaming is about nor even necessary for interesting characters. Some people may be able to churn narrative text out just like that, but as has already been proven several times, I can't. For me, writing fiction is pain and fire and horror and elation and takes so much effort it's in no way sensible or feasible in such amounts.

So, the people that get characters from me can expect inspiration from words that were not written by me, lots of straight facts, year by year, and a tight description of what the character is like. They can also, if they are willing, expect to be able to talk with me for hours about how I see the character. I am neither obligated nor able to provide them with original artistic prose.

I am still worried over the lack of grown-up men. After my ad to larp.fi yesterday morning we got some applications - from guys around twenty. I have no doubt about their abilities or experience, it's just that we are looking for people who can pass for middle-aged, powerful nobles of the realm... Honestly, I don't know where to beg anymore, and I still can't figure out what it is that we are doing so completely wrong.

We also had our first mini-crisis inside the GM group, but no more of that. Besides, it's still a bit open, as I've been mostly unconscious with the fever since that yesterday morning (or, when awake, had the attention span of a fruitfly and the temper or a wasp due to headache). I hope to work things out tomorrow.

I got email from some people who are organizing the Ropecon dance this year. They asked me, among half a dozen others, to teach there again. This arouses extremely conflicted feelings in me. I wonder why they are even asking - I thought my teaching was very firmly edged out for competitive reasons, and I don't see why people should start asking me to do it again after all this time. Furthermore, I am (I'm sure you can understand it) reluctant to do it under some people whom I taught to dance. Also, there is the possibility that some higher-ups have suggested this as a means to involve me somehow, as my experience was not deemed necessary elsewhere (where I actually offered it).

No, I am not saying anything this way or that yet. I am simply describing how it makes me feel.

I need to finish up some sewing tomorrow, no matter how much smoke and fire there still is on Battlefield Flu. Feel tired and restless at the same time. Don't want to go to therapy. Why? Just don't. Feel like it's going nowhere anyway; the only thing it does is force me to think about everything that sucks, and I don't like it. I mean, I am glad that Liisa vindicates my feelings about relations to some people, but it doesn't make me feel better when I don't know what to do about those matters; how to make them better.

Apropos relations to people, it seems that even though I really tried once again... well, remember how I said in the beginning of the year that I am on the verge of giving up on someone? In the end, they came and talked to me a bit (just in passing, in connection to something else), and we sort of worked through it, and things seemed back on track. Except they weren't. I tried to be honest and wrote them another letter where I explained some actual stuff bothering me right now, not just old history or generalities. I've never heard from them since.

And the reason why I don't want to name names is twofold. I respect and love this person so much I don't want to blame them in public. And - the more hurtful, the more private one - it would be too humiliating in the face of some people who I know read this diary, and to whom there is no question of this person's loyalty and caring.

Yes, I am jealous. And I know it's an ugly feeling. But isn't it okay to be jealous, if you live in the same city with someone who claims friendship, and they don't seem to find time for you even once in two weeks? If they always make you feel the same about hogging their time as you do on the phone to any social or healthcare services? If they make you feel that you are mostly a healthcare case to them anyway; not someone who could also give to them, not someone to have fun with; to be friends with, not just friend to.

Then why do I even care about hanging with this person, if it's that difficult? I don't know. Because they say they like me, care for me, even if it doesn't really show? Because I care about them, a lot? Or because I just can't accept rejection; can't accept that I'm not really a very interesting person to be around? After all - no. No going further that road. No.

Because if I start writing about all the other people I miss; all the other people who did not seem to find me interesting enough, or nice enough, to be around, I'll be out of words and into night and blades faster than I can finish a sentence.

02 Mar 04: Post-Oscar Flu

So I had a few people over to watch the Oscars. I was a bit sad that no more of those whom I invited showed up or even noted the invitation, but those who came were lovely, and we had a good time. I kept telling people how improbable it was that ROTK would win this or that award (and, actually, I am still baffled over their win in both adapted screenplay and editing), and kept getting proved wrong. Fantastic. Can't help it - no matter how good Mystic River or Lost in Translation are, I'm too much of a geek not to have wanted exactly this.

After the night party I haven't done anything else except developed a most sudden and irritating flu and try to sleep it down. Well, yesterday I did drop for some junk food with Jukka (but he drove me from the front door and back). Yesterday, last night and today I've just slept. My nose and brain are full of goo, and I'm really irritated over everything and anything having to do with Faerun, for that pesky lack of good, experienced men. And I don't even mean the old beards, just people about or over twenty who are more interested in character development than winning or backstabbing. Though some who enjoy the challenge of really, really experienced roles would be a welcome addition, too.

We actually have about the right number of male applicants, but there are some whose wishes simply do not fit into this game, no matter what. Sure we can give them something, but I really doubt they will accept those roles and come at all.

I suppose I have to cave in and advertise publicly, after all. It's just so embarrassing. It means we haven't managed to sell the game in the right way. It's going to be good, but how to convince people of that?

Because of the flu, I managed to avoid calling the social support services again, and tomorrow there is no phone hour. I'd like to say something ironic to myself, but what would be the point? I know it all already.

I actually wouldn't have time to be ill now. Too much stuff to do.