It's nearly noon and I have just rolled out of bed after reading the adventures of Ciaphas Cain for the last few hours.
Had a down day at beauty school yesterday. It would seem as though my Catachan-sized fists are too big for haircutting shears. Of course most of them are made for women. But after meeting with a shear specialist, it appears as though none will fit my massive thumbs. So I'm using razor-sharp professional shears (larger, but not by much). The result? My hands are nipped up (lost the top of a couple of knuckles). It feels as though I will never be able to d oit right. So yesterday and this morning I felt despondent. At least until I returned to the 41st Millenium.
After a few hours of disappearing into the universe of the Imperial Guard and a shallow, self-centered Commissar, I am cured of my depression. Over the last two weeks, I have rarely traveled to my Oasis of Perpetual Childhood, the Seattle Battle Bunker. But I realized there are many ways to escape into the Games Workshop hobby while nary breathing a word to my long-lost fellow hobbyists. Even with hands too traumatized to hobby, a fat, meaty, funny 40k novel can lift my spirits and help me see my way to another 11-hour day of cutting mannequin hair tomorrow.
And, though I seem miserable with this haircutting thing, I'm not. It's super creative and artistic. I'm having a ton of fun. And my fellow beauty schoolers are pleasant (and attractive) companions. Nonetheless, I am thankful to Games Workshop and it's kooky collection of childish distractions for lifting my spirits YET AGAIN.
Games Workshop, in the name of the Emperor, I salute you.
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