Pushing a Boulder Uphill

or The Tale of a Dwarf, a Dwarfling and Not Enough Zees

The Dwarf had a fatigued look about him as he trudged along the path.  His formerly red hair, now streaked with enough grey to make his beard look snow-covered, blew wildly in the strong Dun Morogh winds.  His bright blue eyes were beset with creases and wrinkles but carried a determined squint, a defence against the stingingly bright snow of the mountains.  His head was bent forward as he pushed himself onward.

The last few weeks have been quite hard here at Battle Medic HQ.  The Dwarfling has been a part of my life for five weeks now and, as wonderful as she is, she is freaking exhausting.

My wife has been fantastic during this period, and has been trying her best to insulate me from the sleepless nights that come with a newborn baby so that I can perform well at work.  Still, I find myself up during the night fairly frequently rocking the baby to sleep or waking up when Mrs. Fannon gets up to look after her.

The snow was mercifully packed down from recent travelers along the road and it was no longer snowing, making each step the Dwarf took easier.  The Dwarf knew, however, that the journey would become more difficult.  With his hand he shaded his eyes and glanced upward towards the summit, grimacing.

The lack of sleep is really starting to get to me, and my brain feels like pea mush baby food – all green and squishy and not really all that appealing to think about.

This fatigue induced brain-fuzziness that I’m feeling lately has touched all aspects of my life and made even the most mundane tasks seem as daunting as pushing a gigantic boulder up a hill.  I find it very hard to concentrate at work, which given my profession is a very bad thing.  Most days it’s all I can do to stumble through until 6 o’clock.

He reached a fork in the road and paused for a moment.  In between the heavily snow-laden pine trees a path was visible leading up the slope.  It was apparent that it had been used recently and was kept well maintained, but the snow had blown in during the night and piled itself in deep drifts, covering much of the path so as to make any traveler’s journey up the hill arduous.  The Dwarf turned and started up the path, his feet sinking into the deep snow up to his knees, and began to slowly and painstakingly ascend the hill.

I find it extremely difficult to sit down and write for my blogs.  The words fight with me a lot more than I find they do when I have a clear head, and the wit and humour that I try to inject into each post has been missing, or at least hard to find.  I have started three or four posts over the past couple of days and all of them feel extremely tedious and repetitive and repetitive.  My normal technique of dealing with writer’s block by sitting down with my laptop and a glass of wine in a quiet room and just writing is hard these days because the house doesn’t get quiet for any length of time.

The other issue is figuring out just what to write about.  It’s a sad fact that my play time over the course of the past five weeks has been woefully restricted.  And when I have been able to play, the fatigue and fuzziness has ensured that I don’t get a lot done.  It’s tough to write a really compelling and personal WoW blog when you’re not actually playing WoW very much.

And before anyone panics, this is not a goodbye post.  I’m not leaving WoW for another game.  I’m certainly not quitting the blog – I enjoy this far too much.  I want to play, but life is conspiring against me.  I find it ironic that there are a lot of people who are leaving WoW because they’re bored with it, and I am desperate to play and can’t.

Seemingly after an eternity of backbreaking effort he reached a plateau and stopped for a rest.  He reached out his hand to brace himself against a large, gnarly pine tree; the rough bark feeling oddly warm in the frigid cold of the failing day.  He was breathing hard from the exertion of the climb and his breath had accumulated into icicles that clung to his beard, hiding any red hair that remained beneath a coating of frost.  A mountain hare sitting on a nearby stump considered him for a moment before hopping away.

The Dwarf smiled and looked up towards his destination nestled into the hillside at the far end of the plateau.  A warm and cheery glow was coming from around the sturdy, oaken door of the little stone home, and the smell of roasting boar was wafting through the crisp evening air.

The vast majority of my WoW time lately has been spent playing Fannon 2.0.  I’ve been really enjoying the levelling experience, but the most compelling thing is that I can play in small chunks with no consequences.  I find logging onto my main these days very stressful because I don’t feel like there is anything that I can do that is both fun and can be dropped at a moments notice when the Dwarfling decides that she wants daddy.  There is no pressure on Fannon 2.0.

I am still managing to raid twice a week, for the most part.  And while my wife and I have an agreement on my raiding time, Dwarfling Aggro has been a frequent occurrence.  More than once I have wiped the raid because the crying starts and I’m trying to heal and move with only one hand because I had to pick her up.  Ascendant Council is a pain in the butt with only one arm.

With a renewed vigour, he crossed the clearing and pushed open the heavy door.  The warmth from the cheery fire burning in the corner was a welcome sensation as he entered the little home.  White bear skins lined the floor and walls, and a table was set along one wall with crockery laid out for an evening meal, with two mugs of foamy ale already poured.

I suppose that I shouldn’t have expected less.  The exhaustion, the lack of time to do the things, the stumbling around like a zombie singing lullabies to your rather confused co-workers; these things are all normal when you have a newborn.

Still, I am looking forward to the day when I can play WoW and get a good nights sleep.

“Fannon, darlin’, is that yeh?” came a call from the next room over and presently a Dwarf woman carrying a bundle appeared in the doorway, her ample braids bouncing.

“I’m so glad yer finally home.  Everythin’ all righ’?” she said, passing the bundle to Fannon.

The Dwarf looked down at the tiny dwarfling face poking out of the swaddled blankets. The dwarfling’s eyes were closed, and her small, wrinkled face squirmed from the cold that radiated from her father. A drop of water from the melting icicles dangling off his beard dripped onto the dwarfling’s forehead and she began to cry.

“Aye, lass,” he smiled, his tired eyes twinkling.  “Everythin’ is just perfect.”