Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Not The Toes!

There's a hobby group I belong to.  It started as a Usenet group and became a listserv when they became available.  They have an annual convention and I've attended a few times, although not in the past couple of years.

The list moved last spring ~ the old list sort of died and there is a new list where most of the members migrated.  I joined them, but as Meg.

Many of the other members are a lot more serious about this hobby than I am.  They do great work, and produce product at an alarming rate.  What this means is, I don't have a lot to contribute to the list.  But I posted about some oddities I found, and to ooh and aah over some of the pictures others have posted, or links others have found.  My male self is completely off the lists.

I planned to attend the convention this year, as Meg.  It was last Saturday and I thought the timing was a bit of a problem but certainly doable.

Remember when I wanted to go to the VA Democratic convention as Meg and I was blindsided by The Return of the Ingrown Toenail.  I couldn't put on a pair of nice shoes and I attended in my traditional role instead.

Sunday, the week before the convention, was my first full day in my apartment.  I set up my computer on my desk, same as it's always been.

As I walked around the apartment in slippers or socks, I noticed the wood floor was kind of slippery.  I almost fell a couple of times and was worried about the irony of seriously injuring myself on the first day I don't have any sort of support nearby.  So the slippers and socks came off.

I sat at my desk, answering e-mails and then pushed the chair back so I could get up.  I put my foot on the floor and pushed back.  The chair casters were sideways and didn't turn so the chair didn't roll back ~ it p-u-s-h-e-d back, not easily.  My foot had less traction than the wheels and instead of the chair sliding back my foot flew forward.  Apparently, I tried to punt the desk out the window.  That didn't quite work, but the little piggie who had roast beef came to an abrupt stop against the metal leg of the desk.

I think Thalia, my muse, guides me.  She smooths my way when Meg goes out, and she helps me in many ways.  I really believe this, weird as it may sound.  She also tells me, in no uncertain terms, that I should not go out.  She does little things to make my trip less comfortable, and that's how I grow.  For instance, I shouldn't have flown on that hot July day ~ it was above my maximum outdoor temperature.  But I did, and it was great.  But when wants to stop me, she stops me, and her favourite weapon is my toes.  That little piggie is broken.  NO convention for me.  I'm not sure if I'll be doing any Halloween things this weekend.

We'll see.  I'm staying away from anvils and pianos.  One of them may fall out of the sky and land on a toe.

1 comment:

  1. Are you absolutely sure your muse is Thalia? Sounds like it might be Wile E. Coyote!


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