2003-05-05 - 5:15 p.m.
Since I long since set my actual temper to auto-repress, I must monitor the extremety of my emotional state by looking for clues in my reactions to other things. It can't be good that after seeing X-Men 2, I complained that I wanted Wolverine's fighting scenes to be bloodier.
I really hope my upcoming trip to Austin goes well. I have a certain amount of grumpiness going into it. When I began figuring out timing for the trip back in January, I had very much hoped that I'd have a new camera and an iPod to take with me. The iPod I can certainly get by without, but needing to take my Coolpix means that I'll be taking some photos that won't turn out well, and that will piss me off.
I spent most of the weekend chasing escape from my problems, both the minor ones above and the serious ones at the office. Ideas for our Industrial Evolution game have been percolating through my head, aided by heavy consumption of appropriate source material.
Thinking about gaming once again brought me to wondering why I don't write. Unfortunately I'm no closer to an answer. I love words, I love stories, I like to hear myself talk, but I just can't write fiction. I don't have characters and stories running around inside my head. I wish I did, because maybe it would provide another useful outlet for the aforementioned volcano of rage. On the other hand, I don't think I'd be any better at it than Julie or Mer, and they don't make it sound all that glamourous, so perhaps I'm well out of it. The rage expunged by writing might end up being less than the rage being produced by rejection by the people who mass-produce Star Trek novels.