1, 3...stab with running start...2...slow injection, pain and the advise to get a regular doctor: "i'd suggest looking into getting a regular obgyn if this pain keeps happening every month." yeah? i'd suggest getting a new job. out of town is no longer an option and everything's turned into a great big theatre of the absurd with plastic bag licking ladies at the pharmacy, extended families in the waiting room with snacks for everyone, and my chart's been flagged obviously and we laughed when you mentioned the obgyn because it was too long a story and you didn't want to hear it anyway.

and facebook remains completely unbelievable and now scholars face lawsuits and when the fuck did we lose our right to free speech?

but the chief is dead...and this article is classic...oh it's funny when reunions occur in the strangest places. now if i can only convince people to stop being martyrs, life would be good. well, it would be mediocre.

snow blocking my door...fucking winter...

pin cushion

that's what i am every week, only i do it voluntarily...

work

wtf, i was there past midnight friday to arrive early saturday to see the door window smashed in an it turns out it was a homeless man they arrested for trying to enter because it is unfuckingbelievably cold out and, you know, who could really get all that mad? it just sucks ass that we don't have any super great shelters...or even enough shelters...

Whenever I hear the word “dissertation” I think “expertise,” whether that is right or wrong (does it matter?). I’ve struggled for a long while now as to how to fit a dissertation – a dissertation that was in my own voice, that was focused on something that I felt that I had a handle on or, god, even just barely hanging on to – into a gaming/ludology literature that is constantly shifting and evolving and I think I finally have the answer to where it fits. It does not. (p.s.: did I mean to say where “I” fit?) There must be a comfortable sense of place that comes with knowing your place, knowing exactly where what you do fits in when there seems to be a polarization, a way of thinking in terms purely colored in black or white. If we are to believe the headlines either video games will save or destroy us all: There is no middle ground. Each side, desperate to disprove the other, moves slowly to either side of the dance floor with every research study conducted.

But I can’t find my way there to either side and I give up. I thought, at first, that I’d tell this wonderful story, this insightful narrative on how people offer help, ask for help, and accept help in a gaming environment (see how good video games are for us?). But I’m not going to. Not really. Every word I type feels like both a liberation and betrayal of my self and I’m not comfortable telling you that and that’s exactly why I keep writing. I need to move on, I need to move forward and this is the only way not out but in.

I’d like to offer you an invitation to the dance. Or at least the dance I’m at. I’d like to give you a chance to see what I see, even if we’re spinning on the dance floor, losing our footing, or we end up motion sick and vomiting into a trashcan in the corner of the room. I won’t lie to you. It’s not an easy or a comfortable place to be and it may cause a false sense of wellbeing or bring about suicidal thoughts (as the label on most any psychotropic medication will tell you). But let’s stay here for a while, at least until the sun comes back up (will it?) and we’ll sit on the shore and pass that bottle of whiskey back and forth until we all agree that this was the best idea anyone’s come up with in the last five minutes. Whatever it was.

christ.

at some point, can something, anything be forgiven? i feel like a crook, i feel like a defrauder...i feel like throwing up. not that i haven't been lately. pneumonia and then the pain day all criss-crossed into several magical ER visits and i feel like screaming to the world "OK I GET IT. I FUCKED UP. BUT DO YOU NEED TO REMIND ME OF THAT EVERY 15 MINUTES VIA EMAIL?????"

yes...it's the registration crap, again. i'm just so fed up and i'm sick of administrative types telling me that i'm irresponsible (how exactly could that be absolutely and so resolutely true?)...not once, but several times a day. it's days like these that make you want to crawl under a rock and die.

the funny part..."funny" part...was that it took me all damn day to get off my floor yesterday and when i finally did and went to work? i was told to go home because i was fired. at least temporarily. so they say.

on your way home, could someone pick me up a break from the store? seriously, i'm barely holding on...