I think I’m better now. I’m still in the institution, but I’m feeling a lot better. I remember everything. Almost. I remember Conan and Northwest Smith and Dunsany and Three Hearts and Three Lions and Moldvay! I remember MOLDVAY!
I don’t know why I’m here. The last week is blurry, but the therapy sessions helped. Doctor Phataphais and I have been having one on one sessions every few hours. He won’t stop talking about Andre Norton and Roger Zelazny. He knew about Tolkein, but he didn’t know how deep and strange and wonderful… He thought Harry Potter was – well, there’s no need to embarrass the man.
They don’t know how much improved I am. I think I hide it well. I let Nurse Holly lick my face at night without complaint. Sometimes I jump on the bed and scream about “The Juice! The Juice! We need to answer the question about the Juice!” It’s to throw them off. But it feels right somehow, too. It’s strange. Maybe I really am crazy and I just think I’m not. I don’t know.
They let me keep my dice. And I remember Moldvay. So, and here’s why I don’t want to leave – I have a regular group again. The other patients are keen to play on the regular. And they…well.
One just sits there drooling. One has tourettes. One just sits there rolling dice over and over and over. One always draws while I describe the dungeon and then makes me repeat myself. One is really intent on the game – like, almost too intent, you know? And there’s a couple that just listen to him and follow whatever he wants to do.
It’s just like my last regular group, except with better hygiene.
This place is great. It’s just eating jello and playing D&D. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I hope at least until my group clears out the goblin caves so they guys can level up. They deserve to see what a cleric with a healing spell can do.