D.A.M.M. (Dads Against Miserable Marriages)
Yesterday afternoon:
While searching/moving/disposing of cardboard boxes full of "mementos" from decades past, I stumbled upon a few surprising finds:
- a bunch of Valentines from my sixth-grade year
- several issues of Game Players magazine, the wittiest gaming publication of years past (not sure if it exists anymore)
- my long-missing copy of Calvin & Hobbes: Revenge of the Baby-Sat (Scholastic Book Club Edition)
- Power Pad, Light Gun (grey grip/barrel), 2 controllers, and bundled connector cables (red- and yellow-colored)
Granted, these items are covered in an icky hybrid of dust, dampness, and decomposing crumbs from snack foods long past their expiration date.
They should offer a power-washing service for long-buried videogame systems.
I have had the Nintendo "box" sitting on a shelf in the basement spare room for years, holding out for the day I'd re-discover its AWOL components.
When I made the discovery yesterday, my mind began racing with possibility for the system's rejuvenation.
Granted, I haven't even attempted to play my NES in years. It may not even work anymore.
My 3-pak Mario Bros./Duck Hunt/World Class Track Meet cartridge has been sitting atop a box of my father's old theology/college textbooks for years, as well, like a lighthouse-keeper sending out the signal for a vessel lost at sea.
Too bad I don't have any games besides the 3-pak.
I could re-claim Maniac Mansion and Gremlins 2 from Brian, the former being one of my favorite games ever.
And there is a flea-ridden, second-hand electronics store that stocked 8-bit Nintendo games last time I visited (early 2002). Or eBay.
Please work, little 8-bit Nintendo, please...it would be very ungrateful of you to break my heart.
I spent last Friday and Saturday night working into the early-morning hours on revisions of my long-delayed Collapsing Jester script.
At this point, I have one more scene to read through.
Have been tweaking a lot of the dialog and description, reading it aloud.
Filmed, it would be very neat. I'm pleased with the changes, blah blah blah.
It's odd, however, that since Friday night, I've had trouble falling/staying asleep.
I went to bed at around 2:30, but lied there, awake, until after 4; fell asleep; woke up a little after 7 (went to the bathroom); fell asleep again; woke up sometime after 11.
Saturday night, similar story: go to bed around 3, can't fall asleep; stay up until 5, madly writing in print-journal, finally falling asleep on the downstairs twin bed; awoke at 8:46 (went to bathroom); fell back asleep until awakened at around noon for lunch.
Last night: after tiring myself out from going through boxes and lack of sleep from the previous two nights, I was ready to collapse at around 10pm (but sat down to watch the last 1/3 of The French Connection with parents), and finally went to bed at around 12:30, but couldn't fall asleep immediately.
A few hours earlier, I'd consumed a lot of pepperoni pizza.
(^written yesterday^)
Addition: I don't know if I have the adapter for my NES, though there are a few bundled up and floating around the basement.
Those who live here know that this winter has been especially unseasonable in temperature.
Last night I ran the ceiling fan in my room at a low speed.
I had been outside, on the phone (since my cellular piece-of-shit gets shitty reception indoors). It was windy and damp, much to my surprise.
A dark form moved from the shed to the hula-dancing blue spruce trees that separate our yard from the neighbors'.
I finally sat in the passenger's seat of my car.
When I came back inside, the fan buzzing overhead did not bother me...no chill down the spine.
After putting on a plain white T-shirt, I extended both arms in front of me, and pressed down a lump on the lull on the underside of my right elbow.
I am consistently paranoid that I am sprouting cancer all over my body, and
Like everything else, I am just ignoring it.
Go figure, huh?
I am either not yelling because I am completely defeated.
Or I am convinced of some lie that educated, intelligent adults practice that insists that yelling and violence is not the answer.
Communication.
Nurturing behavior.
And love, is the answer.
I want to yell so badly, and commit the heinous acts I see other people play-act in films.
All I ask:
Let me escape the next few months with my sanity intact.
I know it's a lot.
But it is something scary when you feel your brain being covered with an internalized strawberry syrup that makes you think irrationally and anti-socially and frighteningly.
Like shaving cream on a bunny rabbit's nose: "It tickles!"
While searching/moving/disposing of cardboard boxes full of "mementos" from decades past, I stumbled upon a few surprising finds:
- a bunch of Valentines from my sixth-grade year
- several issues of Game Players magazine, the wittiest gaming publication of years past (not sure if it exists anymore)
- my long-missing copy of Calvin & Hobbes: Revenge of the Baby-Sat (Scholastic Book Club Edition)
- Power Pad, Light Gun (grey grip/barrel), 2 controllers, and bundled connector cables (red- and yellow-colored)
Granted, these items are covered in an icky hybrid of dust, dampness, and decomposing crumbs from snack foods long past their expiration date.
They should offer a power-washing service for long-buried videogame systems.
I have had the Nintendo "box" sitting on a shelf in the basement spare room for years, holding out for the day I'd re-discover its AWOL components.
When I made the discovery yesterday, my mind began racing with possibility for the system's rejuvenation.
Granted, I haven't even attempted to play my NES in years. It may not even work anymore.
My 3-pak Mario Bros./Duck Hunt/World Class Track Meet cartridge has been sitting atop a box of my father's old theology/college textbooks for years, as well, like a lighthouse-keeper sending out the signal for a vessel lost at sea.
Too bad I don't have any games besides the 3-pak.
I could re-claim Maniac Mansion and Gremlins 2 from Brian, the former being one of my favorite games ever.
And there is a flea-ridden, second-hand electronics store that stocked 8-bit Nintendo games last time I visited (early 2002). Or eBay.
Please work, little 8-bit Nintendo, please...it would be very ungrateful of you to break my heart.
I spent last Friday and Saturday night working into the early-morning hours on revisions of my long-delayed Collapsing Jester script.
At this point, I have one more scene to read through.
Have been tweaking a lot of the dialog and description, reading it aloud.
Filmed, it would be very neat. I'm pleased with the changes, blah blah blah.
It's odd, however, that since Friday night, I've had trouble falling/staying asleep.
I went to bed at around 2:30, but lied there, awake, until after 4; fell asleep; woke up a little after 7 (went to the bathroom); fell asleep again; woke up sometime after 11.
Saturday night, similar story: go to bed around 3, can't fall asleep; stay up until 5, madly writing in print-journal, finally falling asleep on the downstairs twin bed; awoke at 8:46 (went to bathroom); fell back asleep until awakened at around noon for lunch.
Last night: after tiring myself out from going through boxes and lack of sleep from the previous two nights, I was ready to collapse at around 10pm (but sat down to watch the last 1/3 of The French Connection with parents), and finally went to bed at around 12:30, but couldn't fall asleep immediately.
A few hours earlier, I'd consumed a lot of pepperoni pizza.
(^written yesterday^)
Addition: I don't know if I have the adapter for my NES, though there are a few bundled up and floating around the basement.
Those who live here know that this winter has been especially unseasonable in temperature.
Last night I ran the ceiling fan in my room at a low speed.
I had been outside, on the phone (since my cellular piece-of-shit gets shitty reception indoors). It was windy and damp, much to my surprise.
A dark form moved from the shed to the hula-dancing blue spruce trees that separate our yard from the neighbors'.
I finally sat in the passenger's seat of my car.
When I came back inside, the fan buzzing overhead did not bother me...no chill down the spine.
After putting on a plain white T-shirt, I extended both arms in front of me, and pressed down a lump on the lull on the underside of my right elbow.
I am consistently paranoid that I am sprouting cancer all over my body, and
Like everything else, I am just ignoring it.
Go figure, huh?
I am either not yelling because I am completely defeated.
Or I am convinced of some lie that educated, intelligent adults practice that insists that yelling and violence is not the answer.
Communication.
Nurturing behavior.
And love, is the answer.
I want to yell so badly, and commit the heinous acts I see other people play-act in films.
All I ask:
Let me escape the next few months with my sanity intact.
I know it's a lot.
But it is something scary when you feel your brain being covered with an internalized strawberry syrup that makes you think irrationally and anti-socially and frighteningly.
Like shaving cream on a bunny rabbit's nose: "It tickles!"