The Adventure Of The Grubby Gardener

…as reported by John H. Watson, MD

Yesterday’s excursion in the garden was satisfying…if, by “satisfying” we mean exhausting, filthy, hot, sweaty and punctuated by neighbors taking their children indoors when I would cry out “Die, weeds! Die die die! Hahahahahahaha!”

All of which helps explain why we had breakfast sandwiches for dinner, rather than the roast I had planned. I was too tired for complex cookery. Said roast will get cooked today, after Grace and I return from seeing Hellboy II.

In other news, it is looking more and more like I will use some variation of either the Basic Role-Playing system or True20 for the Fall Fantasy game. I shall take a look at both over the next few days, altho, not being in a position to buy the new BRP book, I shall make due with the 1980’s version, along with CoC and Runequest.

Tomorrow, I’ll dive once again into the job search maelstrom. This time out, I’ll lower my standards and hopefully find some work to pay the bills until I find a better job or win the lottery, whichever comes first.

I had two very odd dreams last night. One was terribly frustrating and one was lots of fun.

The frustrating dream had myself and several other gamers getting ready to go to DunDraCon. We were going there in a large U-Haul truck being driven by a former gaming friend of mine who is a total asshole now. The truck was parked outside a large hotel and a block of rather rundown apartments. Everyone was in a hurry to leave, since the con was starting in an hour or so. Just before getting in the truck< I realized I had no extra clothes packed, so I ran into the hotel, which was strangely deserted.

After running around the hotel looking for a way out, I finally got to my apartment only to find that my clothes were all filthy, torn up or missing. Getting more panicked by the minute, I finally grabbed up a bunch of dirty clothes and ran back out to the street, only to find that my friends had left without me.

The much more pleasant dream featured me, Clint Eastwood and a couple of reporters doing an interview. We all chatted about a myriad of things while drinking beer and playing golf. (Note: I have never played golf in my life, but in the dream I was doing pretty well, especially in my short game) At one point, Clint and I got on a roll about how great California is, as befits two Native Sons. This seemed to piss off one of the reporters, who was from New York. Oh well, it serves him right for being from the wrong coast.

And now, I must drink my tea so as to jumpstart most of my internal organs. More blog-o-rama later.

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