Don’t drink and drive

I have to bump that prototyping entry off the top of my entry-list, it’ll be insufferably boring to anyone but the strangest of niche-gamers interested in the mechanics of the industry.

Brunswick St is not a place I frequent, but tonight Rock and I had dinner and coffee with a friend of ours and it was quite nice.
Being a driver means I don’t get to drink when I’m out, at least not unless I know for certain that I’ll have at least two hours dry from my last drink to when I have to drive, otherwise I have a zero blood-alcohol policy.
Wine isn’t always necessary though, and as we ate burgers of all things, it wasn’t like I was going to order Merlot even if it was on offer which it wasn’t.
While the boys fiddled with their phones, I was distracted by thoughts of lying on my back with my arms above my head, eyes closed, and having a lover clutch my t-shirt and push it up, kissing my sternum, ribcage and midriff. Absolutely divine. I can’t give too much away though because that would be telling, and I have to keep some things for the day you actually end up hovering above me, otherwise you’ll have nothing to discover and will be able to cheat. The rest you’ll have to learn by muscular and vocal responses; flexing of muscles, movement in the hips, exhales and moans – sex and play in the dark is so rewarding.

I’m fairly certain I have an excess of energy at the moment, this is not helped by accidentally missing my meds often enough to make this chemically unbalanced. It’s worked for a few things though, Rock noted to me tonight that he hasn’t seen me so enthusiastic about a game for ages, and my love for Prince of Persia 2008 really is overflowing at the moment. He’s a Sonic fan from way back and got Unleashed. The speed levels are amazing, but there’s all of this horrendous platforming and combat in-between. Watching it now I realise I really can’t tolerate such poorly implemented gameplay and mechanics now after playing such a polished and refined game as PoP ’08.

If you met me in the street or your friends introduced you to me, you’d probably think I was a normal person, I’ve certainly become very good at masquerading as one. It worries me though. In a few months everything will be very different, all of the rules change. To be honest with you, after all of my enthusiasm, my romanticising and fantasising, it’s when I’m ill that I hope I meet her, so that she sees me at my worst and learns from there. It won’t happen that way, it never does, but right now I’m all muddled in the heady wine-induced sense of romantic indulgence (at home now, one glass while writing before bed), and the sorrow that would surely follow after a brief season of intimacy only to be plunged into complete chaos. I’m getting well accustomed to it, but I wonder how someone would take it experiencing it for the first time. These are not things normal people experience in their lives, and no matter how much preparation one has, like reading countless books about pregnancy and raising a child, you won’t have any idea of how great and overwhelming an experience it is until you’re in the thick of it.

I know I’ve been discussing that quite a bit, but in the last week I’ve tried not to think about it. It’s something I try and be aware of as much as possible, but I’m trying to see if I can successfully stop brooding about possibilities that haven’t arisen as yet; don’t go borrowing trouble. Perhaps it’s why my intake of wine has increased so much in the last month; when I’m ill I don’t touch alcohol or coffee, though it’s more because I tend not to eat and drink much at all. I feel like I have to greedily eat up as much life as I can before I lose it all.

I’m trying not to think about it. I’m trying my hardest to enjoy the things I enjoy, work hard at the office which is in its own way very rewarding thanks to the nature of my work and the people I work with, and spend as much valuable time with my dearest friends and family as I can. I think it’s working. I just have to be a little more diligent with my meds. One thing I bear in mind is that whenever I think I know or try to predict how the future will turn out in regards to my illness, something different happens. True, I usually end up in hospital or in a random room in my house, but nevertheless the way I get there is different each time. I’m trying not to plan for it, to plot out how I’ll try and deal with it. When it comes, there will be nothing I will be able to do about it, so until then, I will do my very best to fully appreciate the opportunities for joy and experience I’m presented with. I’ve always tried to be pragmatic about how I manage my illness (in the way that doctors want us to manage our illnesses), but if I’m not coming back this time, there’s no point in trying to assess it from a practical standpoint. Worrying about it isn’t going to change it, so I figure I try and enjoy myself while I can.

There’s more to it, I’m sure you know that, but I’ll give it a rest for now. This entry has had the usual dosages of sensuality, geek-indulgence and frank discussion of illness. All that’s missing is an open invitation to marriage.
I think I’ll give that one a miss tonight.