navarreis (navarreis) wrote in ljanonymous,
navarreis
navarreis
ljanonymous

Video Games

I am addicted to Counter Strike. The way one map transitions to another in just under 15 seconds, long enough to let me think about stopping, but too short to allow me to build up enough momentum to shut the piece of shit down. It makes my body feel happy and please, but my reason is telling me I have finals in less than a week and that I skipped three weeks of lectures in my heaviest class. If I stop now I can still nail them, but then again, maybe not. A lost quarter? I hate to think so. I hate even more to think so as a result of a video game. It's pretty stupid. Stupid counterterrorists. Stupid terrorists. Stupid me. I have to play music at a wedding in a month, and a bar in two weeks, and I'm not ready. Finals. Music. Counter Strike. No one calls me or emails me. My sort-of-best-friend lives a quarter mile down the street, yet he never calls, nor does he visit. I have his movie I borrowed, District B13. I'd return it, but I think I want him to come get it. Social life has atrophied. Counter strike is there. Music is nascent and not always rewarding. Stupid linux doesn't have gcc compilers so I can install free sequencing software. Mixer is blown, or 12v power adapter is blown. Music is blown, and not John Holmes blown. School isn't very interesting. Good grades come with effort, but effort comes with interest, and 35 miles between the school and I doesn't engender interest. Girlfriend is no longer girlfriend. She is ex girlfriend in Long Beach. She loves me, but I'm still a bitch cock of a monster neglectfully polite boyfriend, which is why I'm an ex-boyfriend. Nix, nix, nix. Counter strike is still there. Friends, love, academics, hobbies, all more or less gone. But counter strike is still there. The shit-talking middle schoolers and middle-aged men provide solace with their faux radio chatter. I could fall asleep in the cold embrace of the luminescence to the sound of their voices. Fire in the hole!, and Enemy spotted!. But there's the gunfire. Dreams go pop like imaginary rifles. Fuck counter strike. Fuck that friend who said I should start playing with him. he's never on anyways. he doesn't visit, he hasn't picked up his movie, and he's never on counter strike. With the mundane phrase "You should play counter strike with me," he has broken my life down over the past three weeks, and he probably doesn't know it.

The solutions.

I need to get laid. I need to reinforce my friendships. I need to spend nights at the library. I need to get tunnel vision. I feel like I'm standing in a groin vault, with nowhere to go but down, to nestle my ass right where I am and dream about how awesome I could be if I only started going somewhere, anywhere, besdies on my computer. He I go.
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