Author: Wil

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "I will never again in my life see something this epic, so I may as well pluck my eyes out with a spork right now."

It's an understandable reaction, for I had it myself … but before you get all sporky on your face, you may want to head over to John Scalzi's Whatever and find out exactly what this is all about.

Belle and Sebastian played in my office, while I got ready for this weekend's convention.

I zipped up my backpack, stood up, and stretched. I made that ughh noise that, as a child, I always associated with old people.

I walked a couple steps across the room and sat down at my desk to look at the big list of things I needed to complete before heading out to Phoenix for the comicon. I uncapped my pen, and put a line through "pack the nerd bag."

"Hey," I thought, "the only thing left on the list is 'make the setlist for the awesome hour!'"

I jumped up and ran into the back of the house, where Anne was dumping a basket of laundry onto our bed. "Dude! I finished almost everything on my list!"

"Are you going to relax, now?"

"As soon as I figure out what my setlist is going to be," I said. I pulled a still-warm T-shirt out of the pile and began to fold it. "Oh, I'm totally taking this to Phoenix with me."

Before she could speak, I added, "Nnnnnnnerrrrrrd … shhhiiirrrttt!"

She looked at me and barely suppressed a smile.

"Sorry, I'm a little relieved that I'm basically done with my list, and super excited to go spend a few days among my tribe."

The smile appeared. "I know."

I reached into the pile of clothes and pulled out a pair of jeans. "Remember how much you loved putting on jeans right out of the dryer when you were a kid?"

"And you'd jump into them and try not to let the rivets burn you," she said.

I tentatively touched a rivet near one of the front pockets. It was warm, but not hot.

"When the kids were little," Anne said, "I'd put their jeans into the dryer before school on really cold days."

"Ha! I totally remember that," I said. I folded up the jeans and began sorting socks.

We folded in happy silence for a few minutes.

"I really don't know that I'm going to do for my Awesome Hour," I said. "I think I want to read two short stories, and then spend the second half of the hour doing Q and A."

I began the process of sorting my socks, which really should be easy, but never is.

"Some day, when I have 'fuck you' money, I'm totally buying all new socks, and they'll all be exactly the same, so I don't have to do this ever again."

"It's good to have goals," she said.

A light went off in my brain. "I know what I'm going to read."

"Oh? Is it a story about your socks?"

"Nope." I told her what my plan was.

"Yeah, that's entertaining."

We finished folding our clothes, and put everything away.

"I'm going to go play Red Dead Redemption, now," I said. "I think I've earned it, and I need to decompress a little bit, after such a busy day."

"Just don't shoot your horse this time," she said, dryly.

"Hey! That was an accident!"

Earlier in the day, I'd related to her how, the night before, I'd been out hunting coyotes (you know, like you do) and while aiming down from my horse, I accidentally shot it in the neck and killed it. I was so traumatized, I broke my personal rule about never reloading from a saved game file if things don't work out the way I want them to.

"If you say so," she said. "Don't stay up too late."

"I won't."

I kissed her goodnight, and a few minutes later found myself roaming the old west.

"Hey, Wil," my brain said.

"What, brain?"

"You're a cowboy…"

"Don't you fucking dare, brain."

"On a steel horse you ride…"

"I swear to god, I'm going to kill you with so much beer…"

"You're wanted…"

In spite of myself, I sang, "WAAAANNNTTTEEEEDDDD…"

My brain joined me: "Dead or aliiiivvvveee!"

I tried to pretend that it wasn't awesome, but my brain pointed out that, being my brain, it knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Hey, just look at it this way," my brain said, "I'm preparing you for Rock Band at the convention this weekend."

"I … you … just …" I had trouble speaking.

"Yeah, that's me fucking with you. Just say 'thank you', and you can get back to playing the game.

I sighed. "Thank you, brain."

"You're welcome. Now try not to shoot your horse."

Spoiler alert:

If this interests you, you really want to listen to .

On my patio, birds alternately sing to each other and furiously jostle for position on my bird feeders. Baby birds in a nest above my kitchen window chirp at their mother for food.

The inexplicably comforting smell of wet grass rides a gentle breeze through my open window and fills my office with memories of childhood days when spring was warm enough to play in the hose with my brother and sister.

A few houses up the street, a lawnmower drones on, more of a resonant hum than an actual sound. 

My dogs, until recently chasing each other all over the house and through the open doors into the yard, sleep on the floor, their favorite rope toy between them.

I have a ton of work to get done before I leave for Phoenix tomorrow, and I'm feeling more than a little stressed out and overwhelmed. I'd hoped that taking a few moments to appreciate the peace and serenity around me would have calmed me down, but now I just feel like I've wasted time I should have spent working.

Dejected arr.