Basically I had to role play asking orc and troll gangs who are predisposed to help me because I killed all their previous leaders by myself, for disturbing my peace and harshing my mellow, if they would back up my Shadowrunners taking down a gang leader playing cop in south Dallas. My negotiation rolls were 5 and 6 hits on my social limit of 3, with me only needing to hit my social limit to make the roll with a dice pool of 21. I was pretty much guaranteed to make the roll, but I wanted to role play anyway, because That’s What The Game Is About.
I’m tracking the packages I’m supposed to be getting from the jungle site tomorrow, and they must be in a local warehouse because none of them have shipped yet and they are supposed to be in my hands by 2200 tomorrow. I’m getting filters for Mrs. the Poet’s vacuum cleaner, the power supply for testing the lights, and the test leads for connecting the lights to the power supply. And I clicked on each one and the test leads are coming via USPS and have already shipped, but the other two haven’t shipped yet. And as I was composing this another package with a delivery date on the 25th through the 29th shipped from Ontario CA US, unlike the headlight buckets and backing brackets that shipped from Ontario CA in the Great White North. The one from Cali is my throttle bodies for the manifold I dreamed about.
I’m still eating those single-serving frozen dinners because Mrs. the Poet’s tummy is upset and she can’t eat regular food yet. Tonight was meatloaf and mashed potatoes, which TBH was on the bland side for meatloaf with almost tasteless gravy and barely there garlic mashed ‘taters. There was a hint of garlic in the potatoes, but not a very strong hint. Processed frozen foods just really don’t have much flavor unless they’re pizza, because it’s really hard to ruin pizza unless you use non-pizza toppings. I’m also having the last of the Waterloo sparkling water we bought last month when they were BOGO free, and all they had was mixed berry.
One other thing coming up is Mrs. the Poet’s rescheduled trip to NY in September instead of July will leave me alone on the 21st anniversary of getting killed and my 64th birthday the former more important than the latter by an enormous margin. Not everybody has the option of celebrating the day they were murdered, and I don’t want to celebrate my Deathday by myself. But this was the schedule we moved her trip to when she got too sick to take the trip and the dates didn’t ring any bells until the next week, which is this week. I guess I can muddle through with my friends and without Mrs. the Poet.
And this is long enough for now and time to put this post to bed.