My obsessive compulsive nature may be taking the fun out of writing. That should not really surprise me. It takes the fun out of everything.
OCD versus PS4:
I believe the pinnacle of gaming was the good ole' days of Nintendo Hard. The Super Nintendo may have been the best. You bust your butt trying to beat the game, and that was all there was to it. If it was too hard, you would just grab another game. As long as the cartridge was fun, you'd go back to it. Also, being between 12 and 16 left me with little resources to buy new ones, I had better love what I had.
As a creative person, the creativity options that sports games now leaves me stuck on them for large fractions of the year. I have been eyeing deals on Black Friday for "WWE 2K19." For less than $30, the price seems right to give it a chance to redeem itself from the previous release. But with a creative suite that does not end until May 2020, how am I going to get to "Red Dead Redemption 2" and "Assassin's Creed Odyssey?" "Fire Pro Wrestling World" has just been removed from the console and placed on the shelf. Curse "Soul Caliber 6" and it's create a fighter.
How does anyone get to enjoy all the new games out there? You want to see all the narratives, but you only have a month to do it in before the next game. It may just be a challenge I face. When 16-bits were all I got, I didn't have a social life to distract me from that. Now, if I do not get home and turn on the system, I may not be playing when the girlfriend gets home. She crosses the threshold and I do not have a controller in hand, I feel obligated to devote my attention to her.
If I am not home when she gets home from whatever she does to fill her time (she stays busy and productive, but shouldn't compare it to two jobs), which is tough when Tuesday is my only guaranteed day off, my apartment is utter chaos. When I throw something away, something that should have been put in recycling is at the top of the pile. Placing my lunchbox on the stove, her mess from the microwave that is at the other side of the room is presented to me.
The toilet paper is about out in the bathroom, so I will go to grab a new one. Where the reserve six pack is lays the wrapper of the previous pack sits next to it. And the made bed in the master bedroom has its mattress hanging off the frame. That completes the tour.
She does not call OCD a disorder. She tells me I am petty. When you do not have the same mental disorder she has, yours does not count.
OCD versus My Social Life:
This blog is being written on the Monday of Thanksgiving week. I am going to be working at my retailer on Thursday night and five hours later on Black Friday. The odd occurrence of me getting two consecutive days off will happen before this, but I have been working with no more than 10-hour breaks between shifts since 4:00 pm Friday night.
Tonight should have been an evening off, but I got called in. It is in my limited availability, so I gotta appreciate any shift I can get. Will I have the energy to do anything tomorrow if my roommate expects a lot of attention? With the weekend ahead of me, do I man up and do anything on Black Wednesday?
As for my writing, wanting to practice it with the time I have has left me with quite the backlog. I am starting to wonder how I managed to kill so much time at the iHotel without blogging.
That's not hard to figure out. They expected the night audit staff to pamper the guests by bringing up microwaves to the room or enough linens to allow extra guests to sleep on the floor since they did not offer the space for pull out couches or roll-a-ways. Having to patrol floors of the building because of a lack of security cameras and walls being so thin that everyone hears everybody did not help.
I just suppose I am not happy. I know I am not comfortable. Moments are fleeting, and you cannot get optimal enjoyment out of them, they may be wasted. If only my parents had stopped following the MPAA film suggestions in 1987 instead of "Batman" is surely fine for my three-year old little brother, Bueller would have taught me that lesson.
No comments:
Post a Comment