It's All About the Metaphors, Baby!

The much promised blogging renaissance which Brinstar has cleverly deduced is sadly going to be delayed once again. Although, I like to think you can already see some hints of it already. Don't know if taking some time of has resulting in renewed spirits or a pent up need for bloviation but I think I'm churning out some solid stuff lately. More importantly, for me - at least - I seem to be, well, thinking again. It's hard to explain because, you know, try to express your inner thought processes sometimes, but I can tell when my mind's active and engaged and when I'm, for lack of a better term, just praying at the altar of inspiration like cargo cultists at a bamboo airport. Still, ch-ch-changes in the works once I actually figure out exactly what they are.

But not today because not only did I get wrapped up in planning for my latest novel project I also got wrapped up in playing Mythos. Or, rather, not playing. There's been a new patch with a bunch of promising features (Including respeccs. Yes! I mean, so much for the lengthy rant I have on my harddrive comparing respeccs in Mythos to refund points in Guild Wars and attempting to prove the benefits of beginner friendly mechanics to erase mistakes in games aimed at the casual market. There's, you know, no need to finish that off now but it's worth it to no longer be trapped by past choices.) that I'd like to talk about. But, I don't know, I feel this strange need to actually play a game before I discuss it. At least once or twice, you know?

And, try as I might, I'm still stuck on the outside. Same error as before 8-2449 or whatever it is that means there's some problem with my non-existent firewall. Because I've disabled everything, scrubbed my computer clean, followed every suggestion and bit of advice I could find in the wide net I've cast through the interwebs and, basically, exposed myself - however briefly - like a flasher at a nudist colony, to all manner of hackers, viruses, and computer related boogymen. And all for nothing. I don't get it. I feel really annoyed that I don't get it. And I'm about one step away from forswearing all technology and moving to a shed in the woods with a manual typewriter to see if I can't get into the Kaczynski wing of almni at my alma mater. But, no, I'm sad to say I'm not going to become the Unicode Bomber just yet. Just that I wasted a bunch of precious time banging my head against the wall when I could have been writing. Or drawing. Or dancing. Or singing the songs that I like to sing. Watching Scarface about fifty times. Something, anything, other than proving the depths of my ignorance, in other words.

Not giving up on the game just yet because, man, I really want to play and not being able to is whetting my appetite more than any number of previews or testimonials. Which is probably a bad thing as the game I'm building up in my mind is going to cure dandruff and pop into the kitchen to make me a sandwich afterwards by the time I'm done. Setting myself up for disappointment since it can never live up to my self-induced hype, in other words.

Trey day until the Snowballs get rolling, too. I will be standing in line, anxiously awaiting the hour. But much to do before then.

Holy crap, I actually spelled Kaczynski right first go.