Thursday

The whirring of machines. I check on Nexus. Slow progress. I let out the dogs. Cocopops. I watch a couple of episodes of Vandread. Two species finding one another and conjoining in the dark reaches of space. I put the cats in a carrier. xxxxx. Leukaemia vaccines. Blood tests. Why do they take so much blood? The test just needs a speck.

Sparx has AIDS. Okay. Medication. Hmm. My debit card.

yyyyyyy. Everything is so quiet today. Everything is wrapped in shadows. Something is dying inside, so very quietly. I hear the electrical gurgling of Darth Nihilus murmuring behind everything. Words I cannot understand.

I replace Nexus with Hexidecimal. I have another go at getting the Mass Effect DLC to work. I succeed. Thank you, god of turn-it-off-and-on-again.

I shower. Hair, skin, teeth. I am completely numb. Somehow, after years of trial and error, I have killed off the sexual drive which emanated from my limbic system. No more distractions from that quarter. I smile.

I, space cowboy. Prospecting. Meeting new and interesting aliens. Trudging around a crash site on a frozen world. I have done this before, but I don’t mind. Look at the past three days. I have done this all before, but I don’t mind. At least the things I do in computer games are things I want to do. And they have meaning, because I give them meaning.

Games are always more fun when you stake your soul on them.

Dry cocopops. Two cups of tea. A litter of rusks. I wonder what my insides look like? Starchy, I’d imagine.

I set my alarm for the single midget run today.

Cool air, curtains drawn. Everything is muted blue. I adore blue.

More space travel. Swoosh. Swish. Bang, bang. Dreamscapes; satellites peeking up from a jungle under twin moons. A city with night traffic racing through the air above my head.

This goes on for hours. The main opponents of escapism are the jailers.

~ C. S. Lewis.

Fetch a midget. Drop a midget. I cling on to the silence of the morning. No music, aside from the gramophone whine in my head. Tinny echoes.

Space! Space. Volcanic worlds, slowly consumed by fire as I escape them in a hovercraft. Eezo mining and thresher maws and Citadel Station’s gaping arms. I enjoy this place. It is Anywhere But Here.

The time has come (the walrus said) to pack up many things. My laptop, Archeus. Clothes. Books. A crate of food. Frozen, indescribable things that were once living and are now frozen and indescribable.

I drive to xxxxxx. I get an e-mail. ‘yay’, I think. One minute later I get an e-mail. ‘Yay’, I think. One minute later I get an e-mail. ‘Yay?’ I think?

Four minutes and four more e-mails later I briefly consider turning around to get back on my computer and see what the heck is going on. I restrain myself. This is the age of cellular technology. I can fix things once I arrive wherever I’m going. 7 E-mails later, I’m panicking. This is not usual. This is a completely different Modus Operandi. Anything I can say, I will say. Just don’t let this be one final conflagration of glory.

Damn you, tiny keys! Damn you, you damned damnable cellular technology!

I hijack the internet connection where I’m staying. I’m allowed to do this, but my inner minimalist is throwing chopsticks at me. I make sure everything is okay. It is, this time.

My afternoon is gone in a blaze of words. Speaking to people. Typing this. Explaining things to others, and to myself. It is late now. The dogs are fed, my stomach is full, the silence is deafening. Fifteen minutes just vanished in the space of three.

I dread the thought of lying down. My head is swimming. My limbs ache.

I will not sleep.