Doing my last baronial newsletter…

…I’ll be looking over the next one, and I’ll be deputy chronicler for a while until my replacement is cool with the gig, but this is the last one I do. I’ll miss it, which is a sign that I’m handing it over at the right time. If I couldn’t wait to hand it off, I’d be burned out and probably should have done the handover a year ago.

Also, this way I can concentrate on my true destiny: being field coordinator for baronial events. Which basically means I get to draw maps and assign people to spots in them. Given the number of gamer geeks in the SCA, I’m surprised that this isn’t a job people fight to do.

We were in meetings all day.

Well, meetings and groceries. But we had three separate sets of people show up today. Three! I barely remember how to host one visit, let alone three. My children were likewise confused how Mom and Dad were suddenly being social…

Moe Lane

PS: I’d blame it on the pandemic, except I’ve been socially awkward my entire life. Which is apparently why I keep picking hobbies and jobs that require me to interact with other people… wait. Is that why I was so tired today? The one-two combo yesterday of talking to customers, and direct sunlight? That explains so much.

Busy weekend!

Spent today making deadlines. Will spend tomorrow selling books while my wife plays the harp and sips wine. Sunday, I train my replacement for baronial chronicler*. Monday? …Apparently the Garfield flick with my youngest.

June’s gonna be busy.

Moe Lane

*I’ve been doing it since before the pandemic. It’s time for somebody else to get that job.

The Whale Thing fascinates me.

Sorry about that.

Tweet of the Day, THE DAY HAS COME, BROTHERS AND SISTERS edition.

THE DAY HAS COME WHEN WE MUST SEND ANOTHER CETEACEAN EMISSARY TO A NEW HOME IN THE HEAVENS.

PREPARE THE IMPLEMENTS OF LOFTY RAPTURE. MAKE ROOM FOR THE GRAND CEREMONY. ALLOW THE TECHNOSHAMANS THEIR SPACE, SO THAT THEY CAN CAST THEIR AUGURIES AND CALCULATE THE SACRED EQUATIONS OF ESCAPE VELOCITY. WORRY NOT. ALL WILL BE WELL.

Moe Lane

PS: SHOULD ALL NOT BE WELL, REMEMBER TO ACCEPT THE FLESHY TEARS OF THE WHALESONG WITH DIGNITY, GRACE, AND AT LEAST THREE INCHES OF STEEL PROTECTION OVERHEAD.