Fatal Error, Reboot Brain

As a rule, I don't play many computer games. An occasional stop by the online arcade to play a puzzle game or a word game, possibly playing Tradewinds - an Oregon Trail type game of buying and selling set in late 19th century China, or pulling out the PS1 for a rousing round of Dukes of Hazzard racing or mahjongg. But lately, the PS1 has been collecting dust (and needing to be put back in its safe home under the TV cabinet) and I haven't fought pirates from Edamame to Shanghi in quite some time.

Back in the day, I used to play Origin's Ultima series, then I played Lands of Lore. I never finished either. My mother, however, still brings out LoL to play to cleanse her gaming palette for a new game. Or she recently found Eye of the Beholder I,II, & III and played them through with her favorite characters. She gets the walk throughs, and sometimes the cheatbooks and finishes the game with 500,000 gold pieces and all the treasure and special skills available. This makes her happy, and amuses me as well (I get to tell all the cute tech boys at the store that my mom's a gamer, too... endless joy out of that!)

I don't generally get into the computer games (console included) because I, like my mother, tend to get lost in them. I also have shunned the online versions of adventure games, the ones you can talk to other people and hang out and kill mobs with them. Those I tend to become much immersed in the social aspect and spend much of my time chatting and not playing (a chat room would be better, but somehow just as addicting so I stay away from those too.

I also have a job which requires me to sleep and arrive ready to work, and I no longer have the capacity I had just a few years ago to stay up late into the wee hours of the morning and still function like a semi-competent human being the "next" day. Now I need the sleep, in my own bed and not on someone's lumpy couch, to get me through the day. (Although, I have slept on many a comfy couch as well - thanks!!)

All this brings me to my point. I made the fatal error of getting a "new" computer game. New to me, not to the world at large, I might add. At the Red Store, I found a copy of The Sims and the expansion pack Makin' Magic. And later that week I ran out and bought (or my mom bought for me) Unleashed (where you can get the little animals to love, and who love you back - aww!).

So now I'm the proud, and often frustrated, owner of a bunch of Sims who do what I want, but only if they don't have anything better to do, who complain, get depressed, and generally make me tear my hair out. But then they do such great things like coming home from work every day and playing with the puppy first thing, even before getting something to eat or going to the bathroom. How can you stay mad at a person, Simulated or not, that loves their doggie so much... I know I can't, so I give him a pool and a computer and a grill... and use the funky cheat code to give him as much money as possible so he doesn't run out of puppy food or tell me he isn't having any fun.

Of course, I can't get him to interact with his neighbors... perhaps that's a reflection of my own relationship, or lack thereof, with my neighbors, of which I know exactly no one's name, and barely recognize them, but I'm pretty sure I could tell you their dog's names and when they walk through the courtyard on a weekend day...

And on a certain level I'm jealous of my Sims, they have nifty robots to clean the house, a refrigerator that always has fresh tasty food in it, and they can miss work and go to the park with the dog. And on another level, I sometimes feel like a Sim, with my Queue of things to do (like go home tonight and take out the trash, do the dishes, do some laundry, pay my bills).

All in all, I am enjoying myself, after all, isn't that what games are for?? Besides, just a few more minutes, that's all I'm asking. I just want to see him get into bed... safe and sound... well, maybe it IS time for bed myself...

Mail oddities

Recently, I've received three lovely greeting cards that were addressed to someone I don't know at my address. They're all within the last three weeks, one I returned at the post office and the other two I picked up today (jan 15 and jan 19 postmarks). Now, I've received mail at my address last year for a man's name, but never a woman's name. I moved in a year after construction was completed, so I'm only the second tenant in this unit. It's been over a year, so whatever forwarding was submitted has expired as well.

The cards are all addressed to the same woman, and the handwriting is very clear and very clearly states my address and number. It looks like someone is reaching out to this person who likely lived in my place before me. It's possible that the wrong number is being used and the unit up the block from me is the actual owner of this mail. Many things are possible and that's what's got me thinking and rambling tonight as my clothes tumble in the dryer.

The cards, all three of them, are very nice cards (I didn't open them!) from the evidence of the envelopes, which are all decorated and are from Tree Free, which makes lovely cards which are all blank. So someone is writing cards, not just sending a pre-printed sentiment, and whoever they belong to isn't getting them delivered.

Is this a mother reaching out to an estranged daughter that she hasn't spoken to or heard from in over a year? Is it a sister sending thoughts and recipes to her younger sister, far from home? Am I just a bit obsessive about these cards?

See the thing is, I like to get cards. I recently spent some time organizing my cards, and realized I need to catch up my correspondence with several people. The hand written note, the thank you note, even greeting cards seem to get pushed to the side with the advent of the instantaneous communications, namely the telephone (evolving into the cell phone) and email (as well as text messaging). I recently had a conversation with several associates where the fact that one used to spend hours a day corresponding; it was an expected social convention. Whereas now we probably spend hours emailing, and talking on the phone. I didn't even do Holiday cards this year (it took me a way long time to get into the spirit) but I have purchased new cards for next year and put them where I can find them!

I like to look back and see someone's handwriting, to have a tangible record. I like getting real mail in my box, not just bills, and junk, and credit card offers (which are junk, but take my time and thus earn a category as I have to shred them). And I know that I need to send things out myself, that's the only way to get correspondence back. It has to be a two way street or the corresponder could develop feelings of resentment and disenchantment with the correspondee.

Back to the greeting cards, I wonder if there is some way that these cards are getting to their intended receipient, or if they're slowly being returned, unopened and unread, to the writer. And how does that make her feel, out there in the windswept plains? I wonder...

Having my writing read

Ok, I've been in writing groups in the past, and shared my writing with my fellow poets/storytellers. I sometimes needed a bit of encouragement to read my stuff out loud, but I always knew when I was sharing my work, and with whom.

Since I'm blogging my NaNoWriMo novel, I know that people are able to read it at any given time. I've given out the address to my friends and family for encouragement and to show what I've been working on all month (while holed away in my little apartment).

It is still the most surreal thing to me that unbeknownst to me at the time, people are actually reading it, and hearing a friend tell me that she wanted to shake one of my characters and say "Look, lady, you need to back off!" is both encouraging and so strange to me. I like it a lot, I think it's such a great medium to share practically instantly with the community. Still, it's strange to get a call from my mother at 10:30 at night asking if the different entrys are just very short chapters or what... But really cool to hear people talking about my work.

I can't wait to get back into the writing group groove again and read my fellow author's stuff, this is so encouraging, so fascinating, oh, I'm so tired.

Ni ni.

Inappropriate response

Today has been less than stellar in my world. I find that when one feels the need to cry 3 times in less than 24 hours for any reason at work, that day is on the down side. When one actually does cry, a frustrated, overwhelmed, panicky sort of crying, then truly one’s reached the pinnacle of bad form. V. bad form.

Tear stains on one’s shirt in important month end meeting, not appropriate.
Snapping at one’s v. understanding, gentle boss, definitely not appropriate.
Having snide joke in said meeting backfire, pissing off person with authority to sign off on finished invoices, priceless.

Overly emotional, everywhere you don’t want it to be.

I think I’m broken.

On the other hand, the people around me, including boss, care about me and send me funny pictures. And know I’m having a v. bad day and still treat me like I’m not stomping around, tossing my pens around, grumbling under my breath, and generally being beastly. Even when I say that yes, it’s good that it’s Friday because I’m buying silverware which doesn't make much sense, now does it.

The month of November

I'm terrifically guilty of looking back on a week, a month, a season, or a year and saying "where did the time go? why just yesterday it was (Summer / June / the beginning of school /my birthday)!" I suppose that makes it seem like I go thru my life in some sort of daze.

Well, however much this might be true, I know for a fact that I will know where each precious hour and every ticking minute went toward for every bloody day of November 2004. I am both enjoying and dreading the passing of days this month. Being part of NaNoWriMo has completely changed the way I view my time. During most months, I try to make time to pick up the house, to run my errands, to spend time with friends, but this month, my overwhelming goal is to complete the 50,000 word requirement of my novel. And every moment, even this one, when I'm not writing or sleeping, or actually making a living, I seem to begrudge to every living thing and even some inanimate ones (like laundry, which I have to take out now).

But also bred in my bones is the magical happy fun gene of procrastination as well as the huge, bulbous black gene of guilt. I sit at my computer and post to my blog, or read someone else's novel in progress, or search for that perfect character name, when Bob or Joe would do just as well. Or that I have tickets to something with someone for a holiday gift, or a friend who I am obligated to for various reasons wanting to do lunch and a movie in the middle of my only day to write in solid blocks all week...*sigh* But I LIKE talking to my friends, I ENJOY surfing the net for no particular reason.

Ok, no more bitching, I'm going to do this because I WANT to do this, I have a deep desire, one that is stronger than guilt and louder than procrastination. I want to be a novelist, I am a writer, now I want to prove it to the world!!!!

Tired and hungry and going crosseyed looking at the computer. Must finish laundry and order pizza, perhaps come back in an hour...yes, that is good...

Must fly!!

Joy

In Limbo

Sometimes it's ok to let go. This is not an easy lesson to learn for me, as I tend to hold on to things much past their usefulness or their ability to bring me happiness. However, it's something that we all have to learn and I'm in the midst of letting go of something that has meant a great deal to me. It hurts too much to hold on but I don't know what will happen when I do finally let it go. I'm scared that I'll want it back, even to my detriment simply because it was mine. Even now, it still makes me smile and takes my breath away.

And more than what I'm releasing, I am letting go a part of myself, part of the person I became when it was mine, when the future lay stretched out upon a road before me, lit by the light of a thousand possibilities. Now, looking back, the path was full of signs and missed opportunities, and unknown branches that I'll never get to tread now.

And I've thought about just shifting gears, letting go of the emotional baggage tied up in this whole situation. And at times, I think I can do just that, cut out the bad and leave the good. And yet, it seems I always fall into those habits that only bring new feelings of discomfort and doubt. So perhaps a clean break is in order. The bad moments, the hurt and confusion, I can keep as reminders, as a lesson learned and move forward, move on, away from the pain. I'll find a place to look back and from a distance of time and space, where the feelings won't be so strong, and the patina of age will beautify that which has left me wondering why I ever started down this road.

It is still hard, no matter what logic I apply, no matter which side I try to convince myself is best, I still find myself holding on, trying to let go, and not knowing which I want, and which is right. I sometimes wonder if I wouldn't be happier with a road map, knowing what turns would take me to what destination. A trip tick pen and a glossy page with times and destinations, avoiding the construction zones and cruising easily through life to where I wanted to be. I guess I'll just have to learn to enjoy the scenery on my little side trips, since no one has a map of my life laid out with all it's twists and turns and straight lines.

Even though it hurts now, I wouldn't give it up for the world.

Introduction of sorts

Everyone has chaos in their life. Everyone deals with the tumblings the universe hands out in different ways. And beauty can come from chaos, in fact, chaos itself can be beautiful.

One of the ways I deal with the chaos of my life is to write.

So here I am, writing to you, to help make sense and to help me birth that dancing star.