Just What the Professor Ordered

On March 7th, I was able to get my grubby hands on Pokémon Black.

Let me just say this: this has been a welcome distraction. I've needed this.

For the past several weeks, I've had the damnedest time trying to write. I'm serious: I know what I want to say, I know how I want to say it, but the words cannot come from my pen. I've only been able to get out a page and a half at most. For me, that's a huge fucking drought.

A few days ago, I started writing another piece, but before I did, I messed around with my copy of Black. After putting that away, I decided to write two pages, front to back. I only had forty-five minutes before I clocked in for the day. That was doable.

I wrote four. I couldn't stop. And I've been quickly filling in a sixth. You have no idea how good that feels.

In case you're wondering, this is easily the best Pokémon game to date. The newest additions to the franchise are incredible and I'm using Pokémon that I never thought I would ever have in my party. (A Rock type? A pure Fighting type? Never used them before, but I am totally in love with my Roggenrola and my Sawk. These guys kick more ass than should be allowed by law.) Never gotten into the series? Now's a really good time to start. But don't mind me; I'm just plugging the game, is all. :)

--Weasel, off to kick another Gym leader's ass and catch another awesome 'mon...

Five Degrees of Pissed Off

As of this very moment, it is taking every bit of restraint in my body not to throw my stupid mouse across the room.

I was doing a few rewrites and edits to my work and thought I had saved. Or rather, I was attempting to save when the fucking mouse pulled the "What the fuck, you don't need this shit open anymore" bullshit that it's been pulling for the past few weeks. So my file was closed out. Before I could save.

When I reopened the file, I could see the word count was off.

There went a thousand words and a shit-ton of tweaking on my part. I'm surprised I'm not mute right now, I howled so loudly. (Oh, and I have a chest cold. That'll do wonders for my slagging voice.)

Prime's pretty much under orders: New mouse. Now.
No, I have zero desire to use the damned touchpad; that's the little fucker who "helped" reformat my work several weeks ago without me asking. That was damn near a week of cursing I'd rather forget.

Here's hoping Prime can do something with Auto Recover. If not, I'm fucked. And doing this shit again tomorrow. :grumble:

--Weasel, "Me, the old mouse and a sledgehammer. That's all the hell I'm asking for..."