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ever dumbening (fighting as the red TRON guy)
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Shhhhhhhhhhhh. I feel as though I should be very quiet here. The maroom walls harken to foreign lands--European castles, Asian temples, African robes, Australian sands. They demand a sort of reverence. Being only a few weeks old on blue, I see myself as an intruder here. I look around at the crimson crushed-velvet pillows and all the lovemaking here, knowing I'm in a sacred place, and I think, "So _this_ is how the other half lives."
I'm torn; am I fickle? The several_species_of_small_furry_animals_gathered_together_in_a_cave_and_grooving_with_a_pict scene that has arisen at blue (though slightly subsiding)--the blather_infestation, that is--is making me question whether to run or to stay and fight. Norm espouses, if I interpret correctly, the latter. But it's so warm and peaceful in here. It's like the tasty hug of vitamin E while watching things burn in the Nevada desert.
Ultimately, I know what's right, what I must do. I just find it infinitely difficult to do.
Time's up, you say. Ah, yes, 50 minutes can pass so quickly. Well, next week then?
::quietly leaves, closing door behind him, 80 dollars poorer in wallet, vastly richer in spirit::
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