Late at night – well, okay, early at night, because I am old now dammit, and I go to bed at like 10:00 – I find that doing math in my head helps me get to sleep. Sometimes I think about how much money various capitalists are making off the backs of their struggling workers and sometimes I think about how much money I could conceivably make if I had, say, some struggling workers to exploit and also possibly a large barn and some chain saws. (That is known as the running a haunted house for $$profit dream and it’s a good one.) Sometimes, I count up all the onions I have ever peeled and chopped in my life. And sometimes my math is a little shaky, because I can never get the same number of onions again. I think it goes something like this:
I have chopped, say, 3 – 5 onions a week for 30 years. What? Onions are in everything and I used to actually be one of those people who made that “dinner” thing just about every night. I’m not one of those people anymore and my onion consumption has gone way down but still, figure it this way: 3 onions x 50 (the extra 2 weeks makes the math too hard) weeks = 150 onions 150 onions x 30 = 7500 onions and where the hell did I get the 6000 number, anyway? I no longer remember but 6000 Onions sounds better than 7500 Onions and no matter how you chop them, it’s one hell of a lot of onions.
In other news, it’s been three years. Hmmm. When I went to look back at the Hangover Journals I was actually surprised that it was still going on in 2010. I kind of thought I had stopped in 2008 – I think that was because in my mind, my life pretty much stopped in 2008. It has been, as I mentioned, a very long, mostly very bad, five years. It’s kind of oddly fitting that I came back to the blogosphere on the same day as (the vastly more talented than me) Allie Brosh and if you would like to read or have not yet read her extremely insightful and very damn funny takes on crippling depression, here’s part one and here, a year later, is part two.
Depression and anxiety – I have both, have multiple formal diagnoses, have had them for years, and they’re not going away anytime soon, like, actually, probably ever, thanks – are fucking beasts and I use the word beast in the new 21st century form of the term which combines the old fear “It is the BEAST! Flee to the forest, my children while I attempt to hold him off with my trusty stave!” with a certain new respect and awe “I am the fucking BEAST of the line, and they fucking respect that.” (tm my son the cook.) Yeah, you must fear the beast but you can kind of admire him as well because the beast is so very, very good at derailing your life and making you think that it’s all perfectly normal.
I am just now beginning to admit that it is slightly possible, maybe just barely possible, that playing Minecraft for, basically, 6 – 8 hours a day for 3 years is not quite normal and maybe, just maybe, might not have been the mentally healthiest activity I have ever engaged in. It’s still the best game in the history of the universe and I am proud, yes, proud of my cities and towns and varied fantabulous Minecraft creations (which you can see some older ones of here gathering tumbleweeds and dust) but meanwhile it would appear that my real life was proceeding without me. Now I am kind of trying to wake up. This blog is going to help me wake up and, well, we shall see what we shall see.
And I’m still going to play Minecraft here and there, only not as much. This is in fact easier than it sounds because I broke it by discovering how to cheat and once you’ve started playing in creative mode, where you’re invisible to the monsters and have unlimited supplies to build with, it frankly gets kind of boring.