I shake my head in wonder as I write this. The changes that have been underway in the depths of what passes for my mind these days are… ye gods, dare I use the word “profound?”

Nah, too pretentious. And, considering that it’s me saying that, I believe that really says something. “Remarkable” will have to do.

Either way, I cannot help but comment on… my… uh…

Well, quite frankly, my emotions. I know, I know, you didn’t come here to hear about my emotions. “Tell us about your Epic Loot some more, darklord!” you shout. “We haven’t had an update on your Molten Core exploits in, like, two days!” Yeah, well, stand by, man. Sometimes stuff happens that is more important than WoW. Okay?! Read the freakin’ subtitle of this blog, man. You were warned.

I may have mentioned my turkey farming, and its recent losses. One could say we’re in the red on this farm, and in a big way. I recently took stock of the situation, and I’ll be goddamned if we haven’t lost another two of those five-pound mumbajimbas.

But that’s not really the point here, to be fair. Turkey loss is all to the good, I mean who the fuck wants to live surrounded by turkeys, for cryin’ out loud, but today, today, friends, I want to describe to you another side of this process that flat out startled me, and in a way that I believe will lower what little esteem of me you may have left by a full ‘nother notch.

I now regularly attend a gathering of sorts, where all kinds of folks engaged in this turkey business come together to share with other sympathetic ears about how fucked up a business it really is. It’s kinda the main thing that’s been making this work for me, to be honest; pulling myself out of my daily grind for 90 minutes and sitting with folks who have the same struggles that I do… well whaddaya know. It makes it easier to bear. Huh. Who’da thought.

But there are rules to this gathering. And those of you who know me know that in some profound way I am made of rules. I seem to have in fact dedicated my life to the discovery and expression of rules, particularly those rules that coalesce into a digital fantasy. So, it may be no surprise to find that I find these rules quite interesting. And the ones that sound like challenges… well.

The rule I want to talk about today is the “you can’t get up in front of the group and speak until you’ve been followin’ da rules for 90 days” rule.

Imagine, now. Yours truly, for the past 90 days, has been sitting in this group, silent, prevented from getting up there. It. Has. Been. Driving. Me. Mental. I have, in fact, had ample opportunity to consider the idea that this is partially why this rule exists: to motivate we of the attention-getters clan. It causes me despair that having full knowledge of the fact that I’m being remorselessly manipulated in no way changes the efficacy of that manipulation. “90 days, huh?? Oh YEAH?? Well, then, I’ll see you in 90 days!!” [sits silently and pouts]

Well, friends, no more. After (lesse, does the math, ummm, let’s say on average 2.5 meetings a week, 12 weeks, say …) 30 meetings of quietly, patiently (and, I must admit, appreciatively and attentively) holding my tongue, last night I got the fuck up there.

And it was funny, by the time I actually made it to the front, I had only gratitude and simple explanation of what brought me there to offer. After walking the path for three months, it was enough… by far enough… to simply be able to get up there and say something. It was awesome.

And here’s where it went all darklord on me. I finished, and I went back, and I sat down, and as I savored the final moments of my first official share, here is the the thought that popped unbidden into my head:

“That… was even better… than getting Epic Loot. Better.”

Sweet Jesus. I really need to stop playing WoW one of these days.