adventures in the swamp

Last night's D&D game was a bit chaotic, as there was a beat down supplied to Percy. It was a long time coming. Alex grabbed his stick and smacked Percy with it, and the goblin knocked him unconscious.

Thanks to Percy being a brat, we ended up being attacked by swamp zombie like things and the ghost of a dead priest. Meier got smacked down by the priest ghost, and was furious. So we hunted down his tomb and torched it, and looted the good stuff. Meier has some nifty robes that add to his charisma bonus, so it's all good.My sorceror's a bit tetchy this morning however over some fumbles, as I was rolling atrociously last night. Except for a couple rounds of perfect magic missile damage.

It ended on a cliffhanger, and I think we're about to get smacked around by the crocodile men. They're trying to sink out boat. This can't be good.

we are all here

The only way in which I currently use my expensive and yet relatively cheap education is to interpret where someone has misheard or misread a letter and correct addresses. This skill comes in handy. I have also become adept at pointing out paticular typos and based on the keyboard can generally arrive at the correct address without outside resources.

Apparently, wearing anything acknowledging Halloween is unprofessional. (Since when is the night shift considered professional? I thought we were the red haired stepchildren) Maybe in despair I'll wear my tiara to work tomorrow, or one of my hats. We had thought about taking the day off, but Alan got sick and life got in the way. I'll live but I'm still out of sorts. We won't even be staying up late, as we must leave at 9am for Bryan. Maybe my inlaws will have candy.

My head is out of sorts in general. Full of moody wizards and checkbooks and lists of things to do. I suppose I could take the easy way out and blame it on the season, but this is the time of year when things crop up that I thought were buried soundly beneath the surface. My own stories get tangled up in other people's tragedies. Meier is moody, Lucius is cold, Anna is running, and I am tapping my foot on the floor beneath my desk. We would all like to be someplace else, I think.

I should write more fiction, though it's never been my best talent. I think I owe my characters some space of their own though, and they would like to see the waking world.