Learning to Crawl…

Nob Akimoto

Nob Akimoto

Nob Akimoto is a policy analyst and part-time dungeon master. When not talking endlessly about matters of public policy, he is a dungeon master on the NWN World of Avlis

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16 Responses

  1. Avatar Burt Likko says:

    Take care of yourself. We’re not going anywhere and we’ll look forward to hearing from you when you’re ready.Report

  2. Avatar Chris says:

    Dude, I was just thinking about you this morning, because we were thinking of getting ramen for lunch, and I suggested the ramen place you had suggested. Then I started wondering where the hell you’d been. Glad to see you, and get yourself well.

    Feel free to shoot me an email if you’re looking for someone to grab a beer with.Report

  3. Avatar Pinky says:

    Best of luck.Report

  4. Avatar Miss Mary says:

    Miss you, see(?) you when you’re ready!Report

  5. Avatar zic says:

    I miss you, Nob. And as you sort through, remember this; you’ve got a fan on the internets who’d be proud to have a son like you. And willing to lend any sort of support I’m able to lend.Report

  6. Avatar Jaybird says:

    We ain’t goin’ nowhere. We’ll be here when you get back.Report

  7. Avatar trizzlor says:

    really hope things work out, I very much enjoyed your writing and commenting hereReport

  8. Avatar Kazzy says:

    No apologies necessary. Do what needs to be done. And know that we’re here for you should you need it. Best.Report

  9. Avatar greginak says:

    Heal yourself. This place seems resistant to falling apart so we’ll be here when you are ready to jump back in.Report

  10. Avatar Glyph says:

    Take care of yourself, Nob.Report

  11. Avatar Mike Schilling says:

    I don’t see the connection. It’s not like mental health is a requirement around here.Report

  12. Avatar Michelle says:

    Take care of yourself and get whatever help you need. Been there. It does get better.Report

  13. Avatar BlaiseP says:

    Digging

    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

    Under my window, a clean rasping sound
    When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
    My father, digging. I look down

    Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
    Bends low, comes up twenty years away
    Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
    Where he was digging.

    The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
    Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
    He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
    To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
    Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

    By God, the old man could handle a spade.
    Just like his old man.

    My grandfather cut more turf in a day
    Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
    Once I carried him milk in a bottle
    Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
    To drink it, then fell to right away
    Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
    Over his shoulder, going down and down
    For the good turf. Digging.

    The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
    Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
    Through living roots awaken in my head.
    But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests.
    I’ll dig with it.

    -Seamus HeaneyReport

  14. Avatar J@m3z Aitch says:

    Good to know you’re still out there, Nob. Take good care of yourself and know you have a lot of folks who think highly of you.Report

  15. Avatar Maribou says:

    Thinking of you. Take care.Report