The Immature Hermit-to-Be

I once told someone that I could see myself being a sixty-five year old hermit…that I felt as if my personality would befit such a fate.  And that I’d be fine with that.  And as days become weeks, and weeks become months…I can see why I thought that.  The time I have alone is precious to me.  Other people are an annoyance.  I don’t particularly enjoy hanging out with people I know.  I feel hassled by having to visit my three sets of parents (mom’s side, dad’s side, Will’s parents…they all count equally……….and yes, I do feel horrible for having said it’s a hassle, but I can’t help how it feels sometimes, y’know?).  I guess what I’m really saying is that I don’t have any need for the company of others.  I’d rather spend a night, alone, watching a movie or playing a game than go out to a bar and drink with friends.  It’s no contest.  What does this say about me?  Probably that I’m a great candidate to be a sixty-five year old hermit.

Then again, maybe it has something to do with my emotional development.  I’ve come to firmly believe my mental age is far younger than my near-26 years on earth.  My sense of the world is like that of a child…or at least a teenager.  Of course, that could also be the isolation talking, too.  Who knows.  But this all feeds in to one, single, serious thing:  I’m a goddamned selfish bastard.  Always have been.  Everything was about me, or I always thought of things in relation to me…how I’d be effected.  And I’m really only now starting to see the full scope of it.  It’s sad, really.  Things that have absolutely nothing to do with me (Will and Mo is a prime example of this), and yet, I get mad or upset about how this could have happened to me, or how this ruins what I had planned.  So on and so forth.  Selfish, man.  Selfish.  And perhaps what has helped awaken me to this is watching my little brother grow into another version of me.  It’s always about him, and how things relate to him.  I see the way he acts and find myself thinking, "Jeez, what a self-centered little turd."  Then I realize I’m exactly the same way.  It’s jarring, to an extent.  At the rate I’ve been going, I’ll be lucky to be grown up by the time I’m thirty.

Now Playing in Dave’s Mental Jukebox:  "Stricken" by Disturbed, "Different Kind of Pain" by Cold, and "Dirthouse" by Static-X

A few entries back, I was going on and on about how RPG’s needed a great story to go with great gameplay to make me happy….and I mentioned what was then the forthcoming Tales of Legendia.  Well, in four days, I’ve played it for sixteen hours.  That’s how much I love it.  The gameplay is as good as I expected.  I knew what I was getting going in.  But the story is fantastic.  I’ve figured out what it is that sets the Tales series apart from all other games:  story pacing.  They know exactly when to tease you a little bit.  Give you just a small bit of story to keep you going.  Makes me want to not even consider putting it down.  The characters have depth and are just generally interesting.  They change and grow, even.  Simple things like character development can take the story of a game a very long way.

In the general life update department there isn’t really much to report.  I’m starting up the Job Search again (what the fuck is it about February?  This is the third February in a row!), but at least this time I have a job, and will have a job as long as I want to keep it, unlike in years past when I was jobless and looking.  So I can afford to be slightly more picky.  But I want something that pays me much better.  Fucking Sears and their cheapskate asses.  But, hey, as long as I show up and do a passable job…they’ll keep paying me my meager salary.  I’ve turned into a relationship consultant at work, too.  People have now learned to come to me for advice on these things.  Now this is something I remember how to do.  Man, I used to do that shit all the time.  And I’ve still got the magic touch, too.  I’m thinking about putting a sign on my office door kind of like Lucy’s from Peanuts.  Something simple like, "Psychiatric Help, $5.00 – The Doctor is IN/OUT (depending on if I’m there or not, of course)."  I think I’d have to go five bucks to account for inflation.  And I keep telling the people I’m helping out that I’m great with the relationships of others, but damned if I’ve ever been able to sort out my own at any time of my life.  I think I was just born to be a watcher.  That’s all there is to it.

And with that…………………it’s time for freakin’ bed.  I’m tired as hell.

p.s.  It’s snowed here for two days, yet it’s going to be 60 degrees by Thursday.  Fuck you, Ma Nature.

Sayonara.