The year that wasn't.

I look sad because I've 
accomplished nothing.

12 months give or take, it feels like longer. I haven't been completely absent, I've jumped in my pod every now and then, I've got a new face, some fancy legs with which to strut on my lonesome.

As much as I loved wormhole living, the upkeep of the tower given my sporadic pod time became too much, yes yes, you can fuel a tower once a month and just not think of it. But our small band was skating the financial line between minmatar booster whore and a twice divorced noble metal extraction laborer with child support payments. That is to say, we were barely scrapping by.

It's not that C2 wormhole living isn't profitable, it certainly can be. It is just that our merry band was too small and infrequent to take full advantage of everything our home offered us. As our already small numbers began to dwindle, with people retiring their pods or just straight up sitting in the POS shield ship spinning, the burden and costs fell on the few remaining and we decided to pack it in. The logistics and time involved in moving even a small group of people's assets out of the hole crushed the remaining dedication some of us had left.

Looking for something to do that didn't require huge amounts of pod time. Being ex-Ushra'Khan and at the insistence of a friend (who quit almost immediately awww), I joined faction warfare on the minmatar side. But what I learnt from that was that despite the profit of FW missions, I don't like to shoot at people who expect it. A fair fight, or worse still, one where I take a complete nut stomping, just means I've failed to properly assess the situation. In faction warfare people sign up for the 'good fights', or to roll over each other in the bigger/badder fleet, and more power to them if they enjoy it, but it is just another thing that's not right for me.

I'm all about the ganking of some poor chump who doesn't know whats coming, stacking the deck in my favor and then slamming them in the face with an antimatter royal flush. Does that make me a poor sportsman? Probably, but a poor sportsman with a hold full of what remains of said chump's ship, and the satisfying afterglow of knowing I've just committed the New Eden equivalent of space rape.

So what now? The holiday season is in full swing, the powers that be seem to have done a complete 180 in their priorities, fixes abound in Crucible, and I seem to find myself with some time to butcher the English language and with any luck a few unsuspecting capsuleers.