Here I sit at 1:45 AM, I’m bored as hell, and I’m beginning to tire of pointless web-surfing. So what do I do then? Go to bed? …but the sun hasn’t come up yet, and I’m hardly tired at all, honest. Nothing a cup of coffee or three, or a litre of caffeinated soft-drink couldn’t fix.
The Morrowind box on my desk beckons.
I’ve pulled Morrowind all-nighters for close to a week now, who can sleep when Tamriel needs to be saved? I go to bed thinking of how to best co-ordinate quests, picking up a few choice alchemical ingredients while delivering a message and coincidentally saving some poor bastard who’s being held captive. Why waste time? No, that’s not right. Why waste time in an inefficient manner? I have a lot of time to waste this summer, and if I’m going to waste it by playing Morrowind until my eyes bleed I’ll damn well do it in the best way possible.
That’s what I’d like to think anyway.
But right now I don’t feel like wasting time. Wasting time gets old far too quickly these days. I’m four days past my 20th birthday and for the second time in my life I’m tired of games. What’s the point?
Enjoyment, or the f-word that Tom dreads, pure and personal, is the point. Nothing more.
But it’s never quite enough. I get pulled into Tamriel as a savior, what I do has a meaning there. But as I get more and more engrossed in the fiction the contrast between Tamriel and my real life gets sharper and sharper. A part of me keeps whispering it’s not like that, its fiction. And it is.
All that work, all that energy put into trying to live out a fiction. It’s fun, but it’s not real, and ultimately pointless. And as I pour more and more hours of my life into fiction my real life seems to fade compared to it. I’d like to think the real world was less important, because in the real world I am not a powerful saviour. But that’s not the way things are. The real world is the important one, the only important one. I am just ordinary, with an all to ordinary life that makes fiction so much more compelling, and ultimately so much more bitter.
It’s late, and right now I’m tired of games. So very, very tired. And it’s not even quarter to three.