C LABRACK: you starting to get tired of competing with GTA?
FieryGwenivere: yes. yes I am.
FieryGwenivere: and if you just assumed that, you're very insightful. I don't remember mentioning that to you.
C LABRACK: it's not that insightful. I've just always noticed zack playin them more and more. plus, so many great ones are out right now. and finally, I know a lot of girls who have the same problem around here.
FieryGwenivere: Well, it's more insightful than, uh, Zack.

Casey knows all about the feeling of being second to various technical entities, whether it's someone else putting you second, or you doing it to yourself. But I've discovered, just now, an entirely different, but related, feeling.

Let's say Zack's been playing San Andreas for a while, or I've been playing for a while, or we've been taking turns for a while. Let's say I'm thoroughly bored by now, and let's say I'm at that point where I really feel like I'm going second to a video game. I start to say sort of bitter, hinting things, and he gets it. He's heading towards a save point when he says it-- that totally fucking innocent phrase of malice. The one harmless evil with which I have no chance to complete. He looks over at me and, without a the slightest detectable amount of agenda in his tone (except that provided by my ever-suspiscious mind) asks, "So, what are we going to do after this?"

And what can I say? "Well....we're gonna put on some TV that neither of us will really like, and that most likely only one of us will even somewhat like, and we'll eat snack foods we're not really hungry that are designed to rid us of our sex appeal by our mid-twenties." Well? What would you come up with? "We'll sit and talk?" We've been married for a while now, and certainly spending every available moment with each other for much longer, and nowadays, before we can sit and actually have a conversation, there has to be some supply of subject matter. (And, not surprisingly, the only subject that's been in supply lately has been fucking GTA.) So let's face it-- we're broke, pre-twenty-one, newly married and living in Brunswick fucking Maine, and we can't fuck, or, due to the stress of the whole non-fucking state, function sexually with any mutual pleasure at all, about 80% of the time. San Andreas is about the best we could hope to do.

(And, for you fucking skeptics {the ones I keep so well-armed}, I relate to you that this isn't a direct effect of marrying too young, or rushing a relationship, or not going to college straight of high school or not travelling the world, or not stopping to do what everyone warned you you ought to. This is the reality of vaginismus, plain and simple. So I'm gonna hurry up and shut-up the wannabe pricks.)

So it's not a matter of feeling like I'm being put second to GTA. It's a matter of feeling like there's no reason why I shouldn't be considered second to GTA.

So, here we are, post-that-actual-circumstance, and I gotta say the only slight upside is that my website is getting some attention.

...oh, god.


On with it.

Lost in a sea of cyberspace is a post I wrote when I changed the title of my blog, explaining a little better why I feel the way I do about myself, and about The Fish Guy, and it put out there, with almost robotic indifference, that I was fired from my job, and that whether or not that had anything to do with my alleged (well, kinda alleged) affair with The Fish Guy, I do not know. Another thing to which I have robotic indifference: the marathon run-on-ishness (-acity? -itude?) of that last sentence.

The Andover College computer system, while refreshingly new and quick, has a rampant problem that it seems to me would be pretty easily fixable: almost every clock is fifteen minutes off or more in one direction or another. I didn't even know it was possible to set your computer clock wrong nowadays, like you'd need a tech degree to turn off the clock's communications with Greenich or Iceland or wherever that master clock is. Damn, it feels like this is something I should know.

I love the feeling, though, of the new Dell keyboard beneath my fingers. I've had it up to here* with my damned laptop-- I don't go anywhere with it anyway, not having wireless internet at the trailer, and the battery is never charged. I'm fully ready to trade in for a nice, sturdy, there-when-you-need-it-desktop, which begs the question, "So why not use the nice, sturdy, there-blah-blah-blah desktop you do have, namely Zack's?" I answer with utter confidence that there is some reason, involving a brutal accident while his motherboard was cruising down the internet superhighway at waaay beyond the speed limit, and a drunk hacker rammed it off the road, or something. I feel details and coherence are not my forté, at this exact moment. But I'm almost entirely sure if just aced the first in-room test I've had this semester, and I did it faster than any of my classmates, so go, me!

Oh, that's right. Nearly none of you know I'm in college now. Well, I am. Let's not make a big "thing" of it.

I'm taking one class but really more closely related to two, as (don't tell) I am writing almost all of the speeches that Zack has to give in his concurrent Public Speaking course. Despite my efforts, he refused to let me stand outside his classroom today while he was giving his speech (having finished my test and exited my class so early), and in fact interrupted himself in front of the whole class to come outside and tell me to go somewhere else. Ingrate.

Any moment now, his class should be done, and he will find me here in the computer lab, and I will yell, yell, yell at him. At least, I think it should be any moment. Damn computers clocks.


On with it.


*here. This exact spot.