Friday, January 19, 2018

It Had To Stop

My name is Christine and I am an alcoholic and addict. It has been three months since I've had a drink and even longer since I've gotten high. But it's only been two days since I recognized and quit my most insidious of addictions: text based role play.

Text based role play involve either fan based character or Original Characters (OC,'s) or both. You have one or more characters at your end, a role playing partner has characters at their end. It Each person takes turns writing and adding to the story. It can be via email, chat program or places like private Facebook groups, Tumblr and forums. For some people the end of a role play occurs when they naturally outgrow it or become bored with it or it just fades. Sometimes one person is ready to end before the other is and the replies come further and farther between along with the excuses and promises.

Unfortunately, in my case, I'm Almost always the last one to want to end an RP and due to my overly sensitive and addictive nature, the endings are excruciating for me. I not only hurt, but I can feel the panic and pain of my character because there is almost always romance involved and some smut.

It's especially difficult when there was a pregnancy and children involved. Recently I had one like that. My character got to hold the newborns one time and then my partner ended the role play and had the gall to ask me to start a new one. Right. When I'm doubled over in pain along with my character in a state of grief.

I really don't understand the nature of what a character actually is. They act on their own behalf, have their own food preferences and clothing styles. They have a form of free will inside my head and in the story. I am only the hand that writes.  I am the scribe.

In the beginning was The Word.

I believe, although I cannot prove, that characters are living things, no matter brief their lives or limited their consciousness.  The thing is, is that I don't know. But what if they are? I don't want to bring more characters into being and subject them to futility and heartbreak. No more pain for two. 

I created a special written ritual where I took my ex partners characters and the babies and put them in that secret place I keep the 'alive' ones who aren't ready to die and that I can keep as a more vivid memory. I take them then I cut the ties. My characters don't go into dumpsters and neither do their loved ones.

Am I attached to form?  Maybe.

Am I just crazy? No doubt but also know that I possess enough compassion for beings that may be only figments or concepts. Either way, I won't take chances anymore. There is enough futility in life to bring in more potential life and subject them to eventual futility as well.

"Well off is the man who has died. Better yet is the one who has not been born." - Solomon

So it's time to walk away, be content with the sanctuary I created and learn to live without the sound of another person talking in my head.

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Camping!

I went camping from last Thursday til yesterday.  It wasn't RV style-we roughed it.  The fanciest things we had were the fold down back seat of the van to sleep on and a small, portable, Coleman stove.  There were no porta potties and no trash receptacles, we had to use trash bags to dispose of our trash.  It was pretty primitive as far as camping goes.  But aside from several backpackers on Saturday, it was nearly silent.  I would sit or lie and listen for the different bird calls.  There's a pair of crows that bicker back and forth and several I couldn't identify.  Truth be told, the crows were the only ones I identified.  Oh! And I saw a pair of small falcons too!

A short ways from the campsite is a beautiful creek going under a bridge and coming out of the other side to flow over huge stones that have been eroded for who knows how many thousands of years.  The erosion looks like tiny steps on the rocks slanted at an angle.  We played a game called stick races: you place a stick or leaf in a spot on the creek where it cannot be immediately swept away but which can eventually be swept into the stream.  I found myself mesmerized as I followed the progress of my little twig hoping it would get swept into the stream before my ex's did.  If it gets stuck for too long or permanently stuck... disqualified! 

And a little sunburn and a lot of bugs!  There were mosquitoes, small black ants, large black ants, noseeums, fireflies and bees of various sorts.  There was even a beetle with a metallic outer wing in orangish pinkish greenish blue.  Yeah, like that made sense.  I got bit up by bugs in spite of using skin so soft, or else the sun gave me a rash (like my ex claims), or both.  I think it's a mixture of bug bites and maybe contact dermatitis from a plant.  At least it didn't get on my butt!

There were short walks.  My ex knows those woods like the back of his hand so he took me into the woods to see where the small stream that comes out of the mountain meets up with the main creek.  Always always take a walking stick with you!  My ex has navigated steep inclines using two sticks (two-stickin it he says) like they were two extra legs.  I tried it once but you really have to have some strength anyhow.

Anyhow, we had a great time and it was so peaceful.  As long as it remains a little known secret, it will stay that way.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

A Walled In Sim

NoFor those not familiar with the series, there's a game called The Sims.  There's four versions now.  In this game, you create a digital person; you determine their looks, give them a wardrobe, assign traits and a life goal, and then you plop them on a starter lot to live out their little lives.  It's really fun.

As the game progresses, they have wishes you can either help fulfill or you can ignore them.  They have careers, fall in love, fight, fish, and fuck.  They even have some free will thrown in for good measure, so you may occasionally find them chatting up a stranger rather than doing the shopping you sent them out to do.

There can be dark elements to this game.  Let me explain.  The first edition I played was a console version called Sims: Bustin Out.  Or something like that.  I let my sim flirt with one of the pre-made Sims.  They fell in love.  I had mine propose only to find out she was already married.  Bummer.  So... I went into buy/build mode and built four walls around the competition then unpaused from build mode.  This is called walling in a sim.  Over time the little sim starves to death and dies because it has no door to walk through and no way to get to food. 

So I played and watched and waited for this sim to die so that mine might marry the girl he wanted.  The thing is, is that these little digital creatures turn around and look at you.  They point at their mouths to let you know they're hungry.  They get lonely and cry.  They lose control of their bladders and end up wallowing in a puddle of their own piss.  I could only take this for so long before I was bawling my eyes out and going into build mode to tear the walls down.  He ate, cleaned up, peed and socialized and slept.  All was made right at last.

"So where are you going with this?" you may be asking by now.

I'm talking about a human being as a walled in sim.  I am a walled in sim.  That is to say, I feel trapped in my home and sometimes unable to perform even the simplest of duties like bathing or washing my hair.  Sometimes the terror I experience just thinking of leaving my house is intolerable.  And I don't feel like I'm in control of any of this.  I feel programmed to be this way to the point that I sabotage my efforts to lose weight (my programming seems to dictate that I can't drop below 205 pounds.) When I apply myself with determination to get even one pound below 200 just to prove I can, the programming kicks in followed by weight loss fail, or even a rapid gain to punish me for my audacity.

However, food must be bought and dishes must be washed so I can cook a meal so whatever evil hand hovering over that big mouse in the sky finally puts me in build mode (which I must not be conscious of)and builds a door or window of time, I can temporarily get a few things done.  I don't fool myself into thinking this is free will anymore.  It's all fear driven.  As soon as I get home I feel relieved and just want to slunk down the front door. 

Whatever hand hovers over the mouse in the sky must be owned by something that really hates me and enjoys tormenting me.  I see people who's lives seem to be lived in the sun and their sim angel or whatever, loves them and blesses them.  Mine just likes to get my hope up and then snatch my hope away.  Any time something starts looking promising, I wait for the other shoe to drop.  Most of the time I don't even look any more.  I'm just waiting for my sim angel to grow bored enough to delete my file. Hey, rearrange the letters in file and you get life!

In Heathen beliefs it could be said that I was born under the dubious auspices of an ill willing Norn.  Perhaps I was an assignment someone didn't want so I get tormented.  Who can say?

Not me.

I don't know if I really believe any of this or not, it sort of smacks of The Matrix, but it's the best analogy I have to describe my frustration.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Suffer In Silence

My ex surfs YouTube, seeking heart rending songs.
He finds a few.
I hear the tremble in his voice as he barely sings along-he stifles his passion to make it manageable.
I hear all this and remain silent.
I cry quietly, politely,
with my back turned so we don't have to acknowledge the obvious vulnerability that screams from our souls.
We suffer in silence because we fear the rain and the flood should one or both of us speak.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

A Year To The Day

It's been a year to the day since Sage reached the clearing at the end of the path.  I miss him and Dusty so much.  I need them and I can't have them.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

April Fooled?

I just noticed that I wrote and posted that prologue on April Fool's day. Maybe I was fooling myself.
I've been depressed, and depression doesn't help creativity at all.
Add to that a dash of lacking in confidence and you have a recipe for writing not getting done.
I didn't even want to write a blog entry but it's been over a week since my last one and I don't want to neglect it for about 9 months like I did last year.
Aaaaannnd,
That's all I have.
Eyup.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Swoopers and Bashers

I have a couple really bad writing habits.
One of them is editing as I go along and making too many changes as I go along.  Why risk the heartache of all that hard work being for naught if big chunks need to be edited out when the book is finished?

In my defense, Kurt Vonnegut said there are two types of writers: swoopers and bashers.  Swoopers go in like a storm and write the whole thing then make changes later.  Bashers hammer it out word by word, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, and chapter by chapter, and edit as they go along.

I guess that makes me a basher, like Kurt Vonnegut.  He said most men are bashers and most women are swoopers.  Maybe someone aught to look into that.  Anyhow, I've bashed out about 8 pages and I have a coyote hangover, but some good ideas are begining to surface. :-D