A time for a whirlwind trip to New York City to clean out my old apartment and put my things in storage. The movers were delightful, but this didn’t stop the panic from seizing my heart and mind. I just can’t face them for some reason. In the end, I had to leave Rob to supervise while I caught my breath at Starbucks, imbibing the potent medicine known as the chocolate chunk cookie.

A time to go to the bank and deal with logistics. Deposit some checks, withdraw some cash, and change the mailing address for my balance statements. As I waited, a hunched old man tottered in the door, passed the long line without so much as a glance, and latched on to the next available teller. Everyone looked annoyed, but no one said anything since he seemed as frail as mist . . . until he learned he would be charged for a cashier’s check. Then he pulled himself up straight and strong and bellowed in a voice that almost shattered the bulletproof glass: “You want I should pay five dollars for you to give me my own money?!?! Five dollars?!?!?! You’re all criminals, I tell you! Criminals!” The criminals didn’t look ashamed in the least. They’d heard it all before.

A time to play Dungeons and Dragons. What do you do when you find out you’re surrounded by geeks? Break out the twenty-sided dice and get ready to sell your soul to the devil. My character’s name was Spotsylvania Jones, M.A., a half-elf thief of neutral-chaotic alignment. (This means I expended a great deal of time rifling through the pockets of dead monsters.) Rob was the Dungeon Master, and a grand time was had by all, but it was a secret grand time. Everyone kept saying, “Don’t tell anyone we’re doing this,” but no one actually expects the Upside-down Hippopotamus's lips not to sink ships . . . except to prolong the mystery of exactly what Spotsylvania Jones’s Master’s degree is in.