A little help from my bro…..
In graduate school, we have been assigned parts in a role-playing game.
I have attempted to take it very seriously even though it isn’t for a grade because it’s for a dissertation. To a Ph.D. candidate, dissertations are like your baby. We can’t hurt his baby!
My avatar believes education is created by experience and I keep trying to incorporate the theory and play along like I’m an avatar but this one particular character is insufferable.I log in; probably more than anyone else in the cohort because this is my only chance to be creative and as I said, we can’t hurt his baby. (Holy God, can they track how many times we lurk? They all probably think I am crazy. We can’t hurt his baby…)
I read it with excitement, I need a life…and my character was insulted.Another character was rude to my character in an attempt to be funny.
No, that witch did not criticize me….
I’m done. I’m the only one posting and the character was rude. No one else cares about his baby.
I need help. I am not going to lose this game. I haven’t blogged for fun in almost a year. They gave me something creative to do and now I’m being hurled at with intergalactic insults. I need someone who played Dungeons and Dragons until he was told to go to bed. I need someone who can read an L.Ron Hubbard book in one sitting. I need someone who sent me a plush Shoggoth stuffed animal as a baby gift.
I’m calling my brother.
“Yeah”
This is how he answers the phone.
“I’m playing a role-playing game.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
“OK I know you got divorced three years ago but enough is enough, did you read that German fairy tale I sent you about the men in grey? Momo? No, even better, get out of the house. I’ve heard there is this site called OK Cupid….”
“No! I have to play this game, but one character was rude to me.”
“So block the griefer…no problem….bye…”
“Hey! Wait a minute- I really need help. I can’t block him…he’s kind of a professor.”
“What???”
“Can you help me?”
“You have twenty minutes and then I’m packing for Louisiana.”
“Louisiana? Didn’t they just approve creationism?”
“What do you want, Big Sis?”
“Does mom know you are going to Louisiana?”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“Oh right…I’m doing a role-playing game..…”
“Post-apocalyptic, Space Opera, Cyberpunk, or Steampunk ?”
“What?”
“You can’t just play a role-playing game, there are different types.”
“Post-apocalyptic I think…everyone has been floating around for a while like that show with Edward James Olmos you sent me bootlegged DVDs of for my birthday six years ago, and they are coming together, like Caprica maybe?”
“BATTLESTAR GALACTICA! CAPRICA WAS THE PREQUEL!!!!! JESUS, DID WE GROW UP IN THE SAME HOUSE????”
“Ok don’t yell at me….it’s like that, post-apocalyptic.”
“War or natural cause?”
“Huh?”
“What caused the apocalypse- war or natural cause? Oh please tell me it isn’t religious…is this for church?”
“No –I told you, grad school and I have no idea why they are wandering around….Look, I made a move, and then they were rude to me….”
“Somebody was a jerk on the internet? That’s never happened before.”
One thing all three of us siblings have is sarcasm and quick wit.
“So what do I do now?”
“Play it out Big Sis, that’s what you do…now it’s your turn. Give it to him good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t hold back, it’s your turn. Show him what you’re made of.”
“Can I send it to you?”
“I’ll be in a bayou in Louisiana doing A REAL role play for the US Government.”
“Once again, does mom know?”
“Would you have known if you hadn’t called about a game?”
We are such a close family….
“Fine”
“Fine”
“Love you”
“Love you”
Click- no byes, just a click
Play it out, that’s his post-apocalyptic advice. Play it out. I have quite a bit of creative energy bottled up inside me that is dying to bust out.
Here goes nothing….
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I have three children: an autistic daughter and two very active little boys. Very rarely does autism affect a little girl, and I have yet to read a blog that matches my life and routine. I was a working mom until last year, when I began to work from home. I can't seem to do anything the way another SAHM would do it. I try to change a diaper and I hear a crash in the living room. I try to read a bedtime story and they want to know why the peddler didn't wake up when the monkeys stole his caps. I clean the bathroom in time for my semi-potty trained son to need it again. I somehow manage to make it to preschool, therapy, and the library with all three children but forget to buy milk. I love to write about my life, but I am a big Quack of a SAHM.
