Basically, I am even now getting terrified that the Delta Green shipment will land on my doorstep when I’m off for a couple of days drinking rum punches and trying manfully not to correct tour guides on their 18th Century spooky American folklore. Seriously, Colonial Williamsburg trips a lot of the wrong sensors for me. I keep reacting to the people there likey they’re essentially out-of-period rogue SCAdians, but they’re not: and that’s more of a problem than it sounds, because it means that I keep assuming that anybody talking about, say, a phantom Arctic ghost ship will have the equivalent of a bachelor’s degree in that particular interdisciplinary topic.
Which in its turn is an excellent way of inadvertently sounding like an a*shole. I hate inadvertently sounding like an a*shole. If I’m going to be one, I much prefer that it be a deliberate choice and an expression of my art.
Where was I going with this? …Oh, right, the books are gonna come and then get rained on or stolen or something. This, despite the fact that I know full well that either of my next-door neighbors would happily rescue the package in question, because we do it for them all the time.
…I suspect that I’m not really done with this cold yet. I’m kind of loopy right now.