Gamer Funk

Well, we all know what is coming.  My frantic admission that my five hundred words today will be mostly made up of completely meaningless wordplay, double talk, and slyly constructed, but entirely weightless rhetoric.   This is Saturday and I know I should give it my all, but I’m engrossed in my game and being here and focusing on the creative aspect of myself: the writer persona, is grating.

I’m enjoying someone else’s creative turn, the epic immersion of working a character up through a grandly-paced game, feeling her experience grow as she gets stronger and faster and smarter and suffers all the slings and arrows that the game makers can throw at her.  It does make me think about how nice it would be to be able to give someone else that completely fluid and three-dimensional experience through my writing.  To leave someone absolutely drooling with the vividness of this invented world and the richness of character.  It would be well beyond nice, it would be reaching a bucket list type of goal.

Someday, it will happen.  It’ll happen when and if I put the work in to write and edit my work and let myself free of the shackles that say if I write or do something even in rough draft form that isn’t perfect, we’ll all go up in smoke and be revealed as the great, royal frauds we are.

But, my dearest ones, today is not that day.  Being here and talking about the frame of things (quite appropriate to Dragon Age 2, though) is not quite getting to the meat.  I think I don’t know how to carve right to the quick, but it probably would be an easier feat if I had a point in advance of my beginning to write.   I have no point.  Just the effort of circuitous writing to prove that I am not just twisting in the wind as some soulless administrative assistant beating her head against the desk in between coffee runs and complete meltdowns.

Let’s not think about meltdowns.  I am happy to report that I have at least conquered one aspect of the deadly “gamer funk” and got myself up and washed and moved out of this blissful self-induced coma that marathon gaming provides.  We were talking about it in the car today when my sister mentioned going to a midnight game release at a local Gamestop.  The overwhelming gamer funk.   It’s the smell of decay, and sweat, and food and settling into your greasy clothes and rubbing your orangey, snack food caked fingers all over your face and not caring because you are in your zone.

I can get in that zone, uh, I’d like to say to a degree.  I like to cut off access to all the parts of myself that so disapprove and are so critical and just play.  But at the same time, the game will eventually come to a close and the story will have to end and reality will return and the solid truth will look you in the mirror that there’s never a bad time for a bath. Just splash some water on yourself.  Please.

Think about it, won’t you?  Thank you.

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