Another Origins

Origins occurred, games were played, Fluxx was run, conversations were had, Thoughts were Thunk. I swam and walked and bought and played and generally had a good time despite not sleeping well. The parts of the Hampton that weren't the desk staff were wonderful and helpful and tasty (depending on whether they were the pool, the non-desk staff, or the breakfast). Got a wonderful massage from ancientsong (hi there!) and got some stretches that I apparently need badly to be doing, since I walk so much on the balls of my feet. Played in a Deliria LARP that appears to have been made of poor timing and bad ideas on our part (my boss decided that the best idea EVER would be to hire a notoriously unreliable type of faery guide and tell him "Take us into fairyland!" without giving him any more destination requirements). Died horribly in another Deliria game (of which more later). North Market and Mongolian and peanut-butter-and-uilos-pomegranate-jelly sandwiches on labmade bread. The myriad people I only ever see at Origins. Babbling and incoherence and sleep-dep, oh my.

The lady on the plane next to me yesterday explained, when I told her I was a writer, that as a former English Major she had had dreams of being a major novelist, but she was making a living instead, and she hoped to one day have enough free time to write.

And I remembered Gene Wolfe getting up at 5.00 am every day and writing two pages before going in to work, and I told her that if she wanted to be a writer she ought to write. ("It's like most jobs," I told. "It's amazing how much of it just consists of showing up." But she didn't believe me.)
--Neil Gaiman, 2006-06-23

It's not all that much sleep-dep, I suppose. The world only feels about two feet further away than it ought.