I went to my familial home in Maine over the weekend. Per usual, I didn't sleep well, spent a lot of time catching films on cable, and had brief conversations with the folks over the state of things. After showing off their new electronic toys, Dale spent most of Saturday painting (they're in the process of remodeling again). My mom went into work for a while. I ended up fading in and out of consciousness for most of the day during Soylent Green, Fight Club, and a Discovery Channel documentary on Chinese martial arts.
When my mom came home, she asked me to come shopping with her. Given how tired I was, I asked where she was going, hoping the information would help me determine whether it was worth rousing from the couch. Her response was simply, "Well, where do you want to go?"
Ugh. We have hit on the worst kind of communication breakdown. If there's any question where my beta-male tendencies come from, it's right here. No one in my house ever says what it is that they want or intend.
Since it was to be a special trip for me, I chose to defer. There's little I can get there that I can't here, and I just didn't want to get up. She was disappointed and tried to hit me with some of that good old fashioned big Catholic guilt. But you know, when she said, "You're awfully hard to help," it didnt really trigger anything for me. Yes, I suppose it's true... I am difficult to assist. Still, there's a disconnect here as well because taking me somewhere to buy something is just as much for her as for me. Really the biggest help she could have given was in letting me try to sleep some more, but as that's kind of intangible and gave her nothing to do, it made her a little uncomfortable.
Saturday evening, I followed them out to a dinner party. I drank too much, made charming and witty quips at appropriate moments, and even though I felt overwhelmed at a couple of points in the evening (wow, they can be loud), I actually had a pretty good time. I sat and talked for a while with Lauren about her ideas behind of late parenting and seeking out meaningful work, her youth in Shelburne Falls, and even stuff that's going on with me. (I think we flirted a bit, too, but I'm so unskilled at figuring that sort of thing out.)
Sunday, I came back into town for a 7th Sea tournament. Had fun terrorizing the field with my not-French deck. I ended up getting knocked out of the finals by Gosse's Irish Wake. I feared the player, and I feared that particular style of deck, so I wasn't surprised that the day ended with Tony's victory. Though it was hard fought, he pretty much controlled the game in spite of losing an entire round of boarding to my "Cursed Riggers!" One of the funniest moments of the day was muzzie getting corrected by a French M:tG player after having affected an outrageous French accent and butchering the pronunciation of most of his cards. Oh, and monki broke into Spanish at one point, which just sort of worked.
Redbones after the event for beer and pulled pork, then to bed.
I came to LJ this morning to find I had had a visitor. She found her way here through an interesting 6 Degrees-type challenge, but I suspect there'll be more on that later.