Rust

A while back I wrote a comment to my own post Ennui.

Come, rust, enclose me in thy ruinous embrace. Silence these incessant ply-crunching gears so that I may hear the music of the other dryads.

Except for one skittles game in September, I did no pawn pushing for six months. Instead, I spent some time consorting with the dryads of Scrabble and elliptical, the naiad of the swimming pool, and the muses of writing and piano playing. But the autumn chill prompts both vestigial hibernation instincts and thoughts of Caissa. I wonder what she's been up to lately?

I have come to a place where getting back into chess is not currently eclipsed by the fear and loathing that I'll discover how hopeless improving my game is. As long as I can, I'm going to concentrate on what's fun and try not to get overwrought about what's impossible.

With a thunderous screech not unlike the roars of the T.Rexes that roam Hollywood, the gears lurched into motion, breaking the seals of rust and grinding them into an orange powder which floated up and merged with black diesel smoke.

So I returned to the club and entered the first round of the Holiday Swiss. It wasn't a bad game. I think I limited my opponent's chances throughout and I found interesting ideas, just not all of them.