I’ve mentioned in previous posts that I’m revising my manuscript. That’s a lie. I’m actually weewaring.
Perhaps you’re not familiar with the online phenomenon that is Weewar. It is, as the name suggests, a war fought on the wee-est of scales: a computer screen. It’s a grand, turn-based battle game with wee armies made up of wee tanks, troopers, heavy artillery, hovercrafts, destroyers and battleships—it’s all wee! For procrastinators such as myself (English major/editor/writer), this is, simply put, the purest cut of time-suckage crack.
In fact, I’m engaged in a weewar battle as I write this. As I type, my hovercrafts are delivering a wee whomping to johnmd20’s feeble forces. (Ok, they’re not. But you don’t know that. For all you know, I’m Patton when it comes to wee strategy.)
Yes, there are folks out there who are researching cures for diseases, working hard to keep our financial system afloat and cleaning up environmental disasters. I’m blogging and weewaring. I mean, I might as well be a New York state Senator.
When asked about weewar, I typically pause (thoughtfully, of course) and then liken it to chess, proffering that it presents all the strategic challenges of this timeless and most intellectual of pursuits. By the end of my description, you’d think playing weewar was akin to debating the nuances of Plato’s cave. That’s how much lipstick I put on this pig. To explain why I’m playing a computer game. Like it’s my job.
Yes, I’ve wrapped myself in such a thick armor of denial that even a heavy tank couldn’t bring me down. You see the problem, right? The need to own up to my actions fully and completely. The duty to take responsibility for my weewaring. I’m doing it, after all, so who else can I blame?
Now, I make it a point not to drag family or friends into this blog, because, really, they didn’t sign up for that. But I cannot in good conscience discuss my ceaseless, near-problematic weewaring without laying blame squarely where it belongs: not on me.
For those of you who haven’t been enlisted to weewar by this most ardent wee recruiter to whom I’m married, you soon will be. My advice: join before a draft is instituted. There is an upside: I now get a great break on tuition and can buy yellow cheese by the 10-pound brick at the Ft. Hamilton military commissary in Brooklyn.
Be strong. Be weewar strong.