Michelle Slee's Blog, page 17
December 4, 2012
Living life the Sims way
Ok what do I mean? Well consider the following:–
1. The Sims have three very basic needs-
Eating
Bathing
Sleeping
You neglect any of these in the game at your peril. This is true of life. After all who wants to end up starving to death while at the same time feeling dreadfully exhausted and finding no one will sit next to you on the bus? In the game there are nice green bars to help you monitor your Sim’s needs in this area. Unfortunately we don’t come with these bars. But we do have their equivalent, namely hunger pains, body odors and uncontrollable yawning. Do not ignore these signals.
Let’s look at each in a bit more detail.
(a)Eating -
A Sim will not do much if it has free will & is hungry. In fact it gets rather stubborn. We don’t get to act in the same way in the real world. I’ve tried stomping my foot, waving angrily overhead and muttering gibberish in work when I’m peckish but they just threaten to dock my wages. But the real lesson is simply not to let the Sims or ourselves get to the point where we are so hungry we cannot think straight.
And it’s not enough just to eat. The Sims teaches us (although in fairness about a million diet & nutrition books tell us the same…but they’re far less fun with no whoohooing) that the quality of the food is important. Eat well & you have to eat less often. This is where good cooking skills come in. In the Sims this is matter of life and death. Anyone who plays knows that if a Sim cooks without any cooking skills they will have a fire & they will stand in that fire (no GTFO add-on here it seems). But high cooking skills also means better food – the relevance of this to us is obvious. It is false economy to shove crap down your throat (…wipes toast crumbs from lips before continuing) & if possible we should try to improve our cooking skills & at the very least – if it all goes badly wrong – move out of the way of the flames.
(b)Bathing-
Sims do not like to smell. And other Sims do not like to be around Sims who smell. So you need to ensure they bath/shower regularly. The better the quality shower & bath (i.e. the more expensive) the better the hygiene rating. Indeed generally in the Sims quality items (which equate to costly items) get the job done better (i.e. quicker). This is good because it means there is more time to spend on doing other things (see Fun below). Yes this is the Sims equivalent of enjoying the benefits labour saving devices brought to our ancestors. Now not all of us can afford expensive high powered showers (mine is attached to my taps & for some reason I constantly aim wrong, miss my hair & soak the wall), but you do what you can. And we all feel better after a nice bath or shower (unless you’re me & you have a wall to wipe down). Certainly we all smell better and this makes us better people to be around (none of our colleagues will feel the need to leave a bottle of deodorant on our desks with a “Please use me for the love of God ” accompanying note).
(c)Sleep-
Again Sims will not do much if they are exhausted. They are the wise ones. In real life we all push ourselves far too hard. So think Sim when you’re next asked to do something and you’re tired. If thinking Sim isn’t enough act Sim by collapsing in a heap on the floor, snoring gently while a lullaby magically plays overhead. Your boss will get the point (& you might get the boot – but you’ll have caught up on some much needed shut eye).
Ok – so that’s Eating, Bathing & Sleeping. But beyond these basic needs you have others that should also be satisfied. For example:-
(a)Fun
Another green bar for this. For many Sims this is a primal life force in itself. I’ve had Sims refuse to do anything unless their fun bar was completely full. Such self indulgence can leave those of us with a rather Calvinistic work ethic completely astounded but there you go – maybe we could learn a thing or two from these unapologetic self indulgent Sims.
The computer is usually the most efficient way to drive up the fun bar - in Sims world & in life. A quick injection of a mindless game (*cough* WoW *cough*) & your Sim is usually in happy land (like us all). But creative Sims will get the same fun out of playing music, painting or writing; logical Sims out of playing chess or taunting aliens via the telescope; lazy Sims out of watching TV etc. The lesson is – pleasure is an individual thing, find your pleasure point and stroke it (oh did I really say that…).
(b)Socialising - again some Sims need this more than others. One of my Sim’s used to have a breakdown if she didn’t speak to someone at least once a day. This was so the opposite of me I found her impossible to play – I could not identify with her (whereas my male Sim who got abducted by an alien and then gave birth to twins was virtually living my life).
The computer is again the answer to your prayers here – for the Sim & in real life. You can socialise via Twitter, Facebook & chat, but no one outstays their welcome & you don’t have to provide nibbles. Perfect.
Conclusion
So there you have it – The Sims priorities which, if we prioritised them too, would surely leave us happy, well balanced & fulfilled. I’m certain of it. Sort of. But there are some aspects of Sim behaviour you would want to avoid. For example do not do the following:-
-Haunt your son – it’s not very nice & could cause his new wife to collapse in terror. This happened to one of my Sim couples. It placed a strain on the marriage it must be said.
-Fail to clean up after yourself thus causing an infestation of cockroaches which in turn will lead to a life long insect phobia and recurring flashbacks whenever your mood is a little low. Don’t be that Sim. Wash your dishes.
-Whoohoo with son’s partner (in a hot tub too) – tut tut
-Play poker non-stop for a full 24 hours while all around goes to rack & ruin. The only thing in the defence of the Sims who did this was that the entire family was involved so it was rather bonding.
-Invite the headmaster around but have a breakdown as soon as he enters the house & refuse to do a thing no matter how hard your lovely player clicks the mouse.
-Leave baby on floor, forget to feed baby, refuse to teach baby (now toddler) how to talk (because your entertainment bar is red & of course you’re well within your rights to neglect your child when that happens), then fail to ensure child does homework & finally fail to get child into good school (by failing to successfully schmooze headmaster as per above). This all took place in one of my dysfunctional Sim households because I insist on playing at full speed (that’s how I roll baby) and kept losing control (that’s how I fall baby). Poor neglected child. He was the one who then grew up to be traumatised by cockroaches, haunted by dead parents & then in the twilight years of his life whoohooed with son’s partner. Can’t really blame him when you look at the start he had in life.
But - but – all that said – I still think the Sims offers a good balanced approach to life.
Just remember to avoid cockroaches, day long poker sessions & inappropriate whoohooing in hot tubs.
December 1, 2012
Hear my dulcet tones
There’s just not enough Welsh voices in the podcast world. Have a listen here:-
Yes now you know why there aren’t more Welsh voices in podcasting. I sound like a reject from Gavin & Stacey. And what is that dripping in the background…is it my heart? Do I need a doctor? But anyway – I’m sticking with it. I mean…I have Garageband – I have to do something with it right?
November 25, 2012
Keep Azeroth Tidy
All my rather tongue-in-cheek writings about the denizens of Azeroth are now available as a Kindle ebook. It includes the news they don’t want you to hear – naturist nightmares in Tanaris, mage wannabe healer brings discrimination case, Deathwing confessions, the plight of Gary the Goretusk, articles, news, revelations and the seasonal & festive Winterveil Christmas Carol!!
(Minor stress:- For some reason the cover image is not showing on Amazon – they say it might take a couple of days. Any advice to stop me obsessively checking every 5 minutes would be gratefully received!)
November 20, 2012
Rep Grinding with the Joneses
Day 1
I love my new neighbours the Joneses – god they’re cool. I really want to hang out with them. I think if I can get friendly enough with them they might invite me into their home – or at least as far as the garden (don’t want to push it too early on…but there may be a garden party I could serve drinks at or something). And if I really prove my worth they’ve said I can have a ride in their car. But I have to show them how loyal I can be. I don’t mind. It’s worth it to get in with the Joneses.
Day 2
They’ve suggested I should pop around every day and they’ll give me a few little jobs to do. Sounds great. I mean that’s what friendship’s all about yes? I scratch their backs, they scratch mine. Except – when I mentioned the itch on my back they just pointed me to their cat’s scratching post (& the cat hissed at me when I went to try it). But that’s ok. I don’t mind. I want to do things for the Joneses. Every single day of my life. Yes I love it. I‘m their guy.
Day 3
Minor setback. I turned up at their house and they said there were some things I needed to do before they’d even consider allowing me to be friendly with them. I had to earn my stripes they said. The first problem…um no …I mean challenge…there are no such things as problems when you’re working with the Joneses… the first challenge was that although they’d asked me to go to their house for my first job (they were very specific about that) they actually wanted me to do jobs for them on the other side of town. But I didn’t mind. I mean yes I have no car & yes I had no money for the bus but I needed the exercise. So I was more than happy to walk the 30 or so miles to where I actually should have been- which ironically turned out to be the place I originally set off from to go to the Joneses… it’s all character building stuff.
Day 4
Funny old day. When I arrived at the job depot (it’s all very official this “becoming friends with the Joneses” lark) they told me that I had to become adored- absolutely adored- by their relatives the Smiths first. So off I went to visit the Smiths. Took me 6 months to even get Mr Smith to crack a smile (& unspeakable things for him to give a wry little laugh) but eventually I got there. The Smiths now adore me.
Month 7
After the Smiths I hiked back to the Joneses- ready & willing to start becoming their bestest bestest friend. Each of them made me do 4 chores each day - things like cleaning the car, weeding the drive, taking out the garbage – that sort of thing. But they liked to end each day with a fun little challenge. So on Monday for eg I had to give a lion a dental check up (not fun- particularly when it turned out he had a cavity- he did not like the sound of the drill); on Wednesday I had to teach a bear how to waltz (he stood on my toes but I just had to grin & bear it…and boy did we laugh at that pun); and on Friday I had to let a one handed chimpanzee take out my appendix. All good fun – including the complete blood transfusion I needed on Saturday (the chimpanzee refused to sew me back up after the operation – declaring “Stitches are for Bitches”).
Months 8 to…well difficult to say…felt like eternity
I did all these fun jobs - up to 15 each day – for a long long time. I had to start at 6am to get them done. I never finished until gone midnight. But it was time well spent if you ask me. Didn’t see much of my family of course. And I lost my job. Ended up living in a cardboard box (but on the SAME STREET as the Joneses – I was in heaven, I really was). And at the end of what must have been 10 years or so old Ma Jones smiled at me – yes she actually smiled – then gave me a wave and beckoned for me to follow her INTO HER HOUSE! I’d done it. The Joneses loved me!
And what delights awaited me inside….
As soon as I was through the door old Ma Jones said, “Come with me,” and took me upstairs to her bedroom. She immediately started rummaging in her wardrobe. First she pulled out a delightful woollen hat – the type that keeps your head nice & warm and is perfect for life in the old cardboard box. “Here you can have this,” she said. Then she pulled out more exciting things…well more hats anyway …there were posh Sunday bonnets, flowery wedding hats, cute looking head scarves, retro flat caps, policeman helmets & military berets – every single hat you could think of. “Take this. And this. And this,” she said, throwing more & more hats at me. In the end my arms were full of them. Then she thanked me for taking “all this rubbish” off her hands, said she appreciated my services & escorted me to the back door (she said it was important I leave by the back because I looked a little rough from sleeping on the streets & she didn’t want all her adored friends to see me). I knew that was the sort of thing you only say to your very bestest friend though so I was more than happy to leave that way with all the rich treasures she had bestowed on me. My head will never again suffer the indignity of wearing the same hat two days running. I felt truly loved- exalted even- by the Joneses & that night rejoiced in my cardboard box for the years of my life I’d given up to them.
And tomorrow I start with the Lewises- I hear they have scarves & trinkets. Bring it on!
November 19, 2012
Life Shift
My book Life Shift
is now available for the Kindle on Amazon!!
I wrote it two years ago and then just left it in the virtual bottom drawer. Recently I felt inspired to complete it.
The story is about a woman who one day discovers she is living a different life in another universe. As she shifts between both universes with increasing frequency so the pull of the other universe gets stronger. Soon she is no longer sure which life she wants to live … something that horrifies her husband (there is another man in the other universe…isn’t there always?!). With the help of a quantum physicist (always handy to have one of them around) she begins to understand what must be done – there is a decision to be made – one that leads to the ultimate sacrifice.
It’s a quick romp through quantum physics, dancing electrons, Schrödinger’s cat, marriage & children. And best of all- for the next 24 hrs – for Amazon prime members – it’s free!!!!
November 17, 2012
The Guardian Spirit Ch7: The Fight
For previous chapters please see here.
He woke up in what seemed to be a tent. He tried to sit up to look around but his head hurt too much to move. The chains restraining his hands and feet didn’t help much either. “Union?” he croaked, his mouth dry and gritty. There was a movement outside the tent, a sliver of light appeared through a gap in the canvas and then in walked the soldier. Except it wasn’t. Not really. Because Jimgar had been mistaken in the air. Potentially fatally mistaken (although that was still to be decided). The banner might have been the kingdom’s banner but the soldier was not one of the allies – this was an orc, an orc dressed in the Kingdom’s armor and using the Kingdom’s banner but possibly only to fool other unsuspecting passers-by, just as Jimgar and Union had been fooled. But what unsuspecting passers-by he had been hoping to catch in the middle of nowhere wasn’t immediately clear.
“Here you are,” said the orc, trying to hand something to Jimgar. IT was a glass of milk. “More milk,” thought Jimgar, “What’s with it with everyone I meet? What if I was lactose intolerant. Not one of them ever bothers to check that. They’d be bloody killing me with the stuff and would they care? Would they hell. I should say something. I should say something right now. I…” The look the orc was giving him as he still stood with his arm outstretched, holding the glass of milk out for Jimgar, brought him up short. It was probably a bad move, as a prisoner of war, to complain about the milk. At least not on the first day. And he wasn’t lactose intolerant so there was no need to fear death by milk. Indeed given the circumstance it was death by the rather large mace in the orc’s belt he should be fearing. So he took the offered milk from the orc and gave a smile of thanks (quickly remembering to turn it into a grimace followed by a tongue waggle when he remembered that this was the orc expression of gratitude and that smiling at an orc was a sign of aggression- basically saying, “See my teeth here lad – every single one of them thinks you’re a piece of shit – go on count them- COUNT THEM”). Once his tongue waggle had finished he clamped his lips tightly over his teeth so that there would be no further misunderstandings.
The orc spoke. “I apologise for the bindings but your reputation goes before you and I don’t want to take any risks. I’m sure you understand.”
“My reputation?” thought Jimgar, “What reputation?”
Before he could ask the orc continued, “I’m sorry I had to shoot down your precious mount from the sky- he is well though and feasting on grilled fawn as we speak. He was most particular in his request.”
“Why did you shoot us down?” asked Jimgar.
The orc sat down cross legged. His tunic parted and Jimgar averted his eyes he had seen enough to feel inadequate for the rest of his life.
“I had no choice but to shoot you down. Your magics are needed. I prayed and prayed to the gods for your arrival and here you are. The gods have heeded my request and you will help me.”
“Help you how? And my magic…well….”
“Yes I know how powerful you are Medeevie.” (Oh god thought Jimgar) “It is a great honour for me that you’ve left the tower to help me. I am after all only an orc – the lowliest of the low, not fit to lick your boots. I know. I know. I’ve read the holy book. But this danger is too much, it threatens the very fabric of reality. It’s one of those dangers. They’re always the worst I think you’ll agree.”
Jimgar nodded. Anything that threatened the very fabric of reality was not good – although these days it seemed every danger did that. Clearly the universe’s fabric was a little on the weak side.
The orc continued to plead (which still seemed very odd to Jimgar given that Jimgar was the one in bindings). “The beast is loose and only you can defeat it.”
Ahh loose beasts – two words Jimgar preferred not to hear, unless the word “beast” was preceded by the word “sexy” and the word loose referred to the sexual behaviour of said sexy beast. This was not such a situation.
Oh it was all too much to take in. The orc thought he was Medeevie. Why he had no idea- he looked nothing like the aged mage. But then, as he thought some more about it, he realised that didn’t matter- no one had seen Medeevie in years. No one knew what he looked like. For some reason the orc assumed he was him. But why? He thought about what had happened at the observatory and on the the flight. The answer must be Union. Did he belong to Medeevie? Was he known as Medeevie’s dragon? But Union had said he hardly knew Medeevie. And yet that was the only explanation.
But there was another more pressing concern. The orc wanted him to defeat some beast. And he thought he was the most powerful mage in the land. That was a problem. In fact you might say Jimgar was in a bit of a pickle. A bit of a pickle indeed.
“So what is this beast then,” he asked after a moment, thinking a bit of knowledge was never a bad thing.
“Look here,” said the orc, waving his hands in the air so that a portal appeared. “See the creature.” Jimgar looked through. He sat back and swallowed hard. He could have done without that bit of knowledge.
The creature was at least twenty feet tall. He carried a spear in one hand and a torch in the other. Around him were dark shapes- Jimgar lent forward and peered closer. He realised the dark shapes were bodies – beaten and bloody. All orcs. All dead. The creature lifted its head. It could see the portal and it could see Jimgar looking through. It took a step towards him. Jimgar jumped back. “Close the portal,” he shouted to the orc. But the orc looked as if he has no intention of shutting it. Instead he was removing a key from his sack. He knelt beside Jimgar and untied the bindings on his wrists and feet. He then stood up. Jimgar looked over his shoulder. The beast was nearly at the edge of the portal.
“Good luck Medeevie, although I know you don’t need it,” said the orc. ”Defeat the creature for me and I will be forever at your service.” With that he left the tent. Jimgar looked at the portal. The creature was coming through. Now. Right now. Jimgar was frozen in terror and could only watch as the creature broke through the shimmering gateway and fully emerged into the tent. A tent that was much too small for him. As he stood up he tore through the sides and the tent collapsed. There was canvas and tent posts everywhere. Jimgar took a step back – finally unfrozen – and looked around. He saw he was in the field by the side of the river. There was no sign of the orc or Union although he fancied he heard Union in the distance regaling the orc with his nonsense stories. But that could have been his imagination – his rather bitter imagination. He had no time to take in the scenery though. The creature was bearing down on him rather quickly, remarkable really given his size. He was on his own facing a creature more monstrous than any he had previously seen or imagined.
The creature’s hand reached out and grabbed Jimgar’s throat. “It’s going to be over so soon,” thought Jimgar. “And I haven’t even cast a spell.” He tried to bring to mind his fireball spell but the words failed him. Suddenly though he saw Medeevie in his mind’s eye. He was having one of his turns about the gravel – pointing everywhere at all the bits Jimgar had missed. Gravel. Dust. Without thinking Jimgar reached down and grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it into the creature’s eyes. The creature stepped back, howling. In shock he dropped Jimgar. Jimgar ran a few feet to one of the now defunct tent posts. He pulled it from the ground, swung it and managed to hit the creature in the leg. However, this did not seem to affect him apart from angering him further – which was not a good thing. The creature made a loud guttural sound and came after Jimgar again. Jimgar was quick though- fleeing from elves had served him well. He dashed between the legs of the creature and spotted a large piece of canvas from the tent just off to the side. He quickly grabbed it and scrunched it into a ball. The fireball spell came back to him finally and he directed it at the material. Pleasingly the material burst into flames. As the creature reached out to grab Jimgar again so Jimgar bunched the burning material in his hands (letting out a few “ow ows” as he did so) and hurled it towards the creature. It caught his face full on. The creature instinctively reached up to pull the material away but Jimgar was quick and had found another unlikely weapon in his pocket – the polish Medeevie insisted he use. Since working in the Tower he carried it everywhere. He pointed it upwards at the creature’s head and sprayed. The result was immediate. The fireball exploded and with it off came the head of the creature. His body slumped to the ground. Jimgar stood up and rubbed his sore neck. He stared at the twitching corpse. He couldn’t quite believe what he had just done. He looked at the polish- Medeeive had said it would work wonders. He just hadn’t realised that meant more than a sparkling candlestick. He looked up. The orc and Union were walking towards him. The look on the orc’s face- well Jimgar hadn’t seen such a look since that time in the Curran Dor when he had been the only one of the new mages to correctly wear his hat the right way round (they had not been a good intake that year – even Jimgar had to admit that). It was a look of awe and admiration. Once they reached him the orc looked down at the creature. “This beast has been resistant to mine and my brethrens’ bows and arrows, our maces and swords, forever and a day. But you- with your magic- you have defeated him in an instant. You truly are the most wondrous magician Medeevie.”
“But…,” said Union, about to correct him
“Yes,” said Jimgar quickly, I am Medeeivie and I am truly powerful.” He looked at Union intensely and waggled his eyebrows a bit to reinforce his meaning.
Thankfully Union understood. “Oh yes Medeevie is ace,” he said helpfully, “Really super powerful, I mean, I don’t let just anyone ride me for a bit of conversation no sirreee.”
“Medeeve I am your’s forever,” said the orc. “Tell me your bidding.”
Jimgar thought. He had an orc willing to do anything for him What should he ask for? Should he be noble and ask for nothing and just ride off into the sunset with a tip of his hat. He’d always wanted to do that. But no. He didn’t have his hat with him so that wouldn’t work. And there was something he wanted after all.
“Do you know anything about a mining company?” he asked, “A mining company made up of monkeys.”
The orc looked at him oddly. The Nanamore Mining Company you mean – the only company in the land that ever employed monkeys to mine.”
“Where can I find them?” asked Jimgar, getting excited.
The orc looked surprised. “Find them? You are Medeevie. You own the company. You should just go to the main factory.”
Jimgar thought quickly. “Yes yes, but I need to know what you know. I need to know I can trust you. Do you know where they mine? In a factory you say? That sounds unlikely.”
Again the orc looked at him oddly. “They don’t mine anymore as you know. They haven’t for forty years. It’s all electronics now. Rumour is they’re building a time machine. But why am I telling you this? You could just fly there to see what’s going on. That dragon of your’s must have travelled there many many times.”
Jimgar looked at Union. Union was looking up at the sky, whistling innocently. “Yes Union I would imagine you know the way to the monkeys don’t you, since you are after all Medeevie’s, I mean my dragon, aren’t you?”
Union looked at him. “Yes Master.”
“And you can take me right away?”
“Yes I can sir, but I think you’re expected back at the Tower.”
“Forget about the Tower,” said Jimgar, climbing onto Union’s back. “I’m Medeevie remember. You do what I say. Orc, are you coming with me. We’re off to the main factory.”
“Of course sir I’ll follow you wherever you go.”
“Good,” said Jimgar, “And tell me, what should I call you.”
“My name is Edward,” said the orc, “But I go by Ed, to my friends, which includes you sir if you are willing.”
“Of course,’ said Jimgar, waggling his tongue politely at the orc.
After Ed had whistled for his gryphon Jimgar and Union flew off with Ed now following. Jimgar had to admit he was feeling slightly guilty that Ed still thought he was Medeevie. But he had a feeling he needed his help and he wasn’t sure if Ed would still give it if he knew the truth. But, he promised himself, he’d tell him once they got to the factory and saw what was going on there. For some reason he knew the factory was important. But there was something else that was important now -Union and the lies he had told. When he was certain his voice wouldn’t carry to Ed Jimgar hissed at Union, “So I’m a fool for talking about mining monkeys. You’ve never heard of such a thing. Oh and you hardly know Medeevie.”
“Ok ok I told some white lies,” said Union. “The important thing was to get you to the orc.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well all of this – it’s all Medeevie’s plan. You must know this by now. He heard the orc’s call and he sent you, He knew the orc would think you were him.”
“He practically sent me to my death then.”
“No he knew you’d survive. He knows you’re a fighter.”
“I almost died!”
“Did you? Did you really?” asked Union. “I don’t think so. Not this time. But I think it’s important you don’t get too cocky. Medeevie bet five gold pieces that you’d deal with the creature, but he refused to give odds for the next bit.”
“What next bit?”
“Just wait and see.”
November 12, 2012
Hell on Earth
Take a subject you’re familiar with and imagine it as three photos in a sequence. Tackle the subject by describing those three shots.
Ok. Interesting. And perhaps a chance for me to talk about something I’ve not really talked about here before - my OCD.
So photograph 1 – it’s a dishcloth. It hasn’t been wrung out properly. It’s sitting on the draining board and it’s sopping wet. There are also some crumbs on it. It makes me feel sick to look at this photo. I feel sick describing it. It needs to be rinsed clean, wrung out, put in the washing machine or thrown in the bin. Photograph 1 isn’t about OCD per se- it’s about cleanliness generally. For some people that sopping dishcloth is not that big of a problem. They’d ignore it, use it, whatever. Others would be as horrified as me. Some would do as I described- rinse it clean, wring it out, put it in the washing machine or dump it. But most would stop at that. OCD never stops at that.
Photograph 2 – a light switch with the number 16 on top. The light switch is clean- perfectly clean- not one bit of dust or smudge in sight. But it’s just as horrifying to me. Because there could be dust. How can I tell? The dust particles might be so small they’re invisible to the naked eye. But they’re still there. Just waiting to slip down into the gap either side of the switch. And then they’ll be inside – in amongst all the wirings, switches and gubbins that sit inside a switch. And what could dust do to those gubbins? There could be a fire. The house could burn down. And all because I was careless- I looked at that light switch and thought it was clean. I took my eye off the ball. But there’s that number 16. That number exists only in my head of course (my house isn’t full of light switches with numbers on top like some scene out of Sesame Street). But the number 16 in my mind - it reminds me of what I need to do. It directs my eye back to the ball. But what does it mean? Well if you’re me that number is obvious- that’s the number of times you must dust the top of the light switch- 4 strokes one way, four strokes the other, another four strokes the first way, the final four strokes the other way. 16. And why 16? Because 4 X 4 is a good solid pattern- no surprises with a 4 X 4 (note to self: good tagline for a four wheeled drive ad). And 4 X 4 is safe – because it means you’re the other side of 13. And we all want to be the other side of 13 don’t we? Don’t we? No one rests easy when the number 13 is around. And randomly, carelessly, dusting a light switch might mean you accidentally dust it 13 times or, slightly less serious but still not good, you dust it an odd number of times. So you need to be focused. All you might want to do is turn the light switch on or off of course. But the minute you look at it & that question of dust and electrics and fire comes into your head you know the ritual must begin. And you must be focused. If you lose count you need to start again. No matter how tired you are. Because if you don’t & you hit an odd number or a 13 then…then…
Photograph 3- it’s a photo of a collage. (Is that cheating?) In the collage planes fall from the sky, houses are aflame, people are stabbed, children are killed. The very worst things you can imagine in the darkest parts of your mind are there before you- happening to your family, your friends and to people you’ve never met. And the worst part of all – the very worst part of all- is that you are responsible for this. Every time you dusted 13 times not 16, every time you failed to touch wood for luck, every time you were too tired to repeat a certain thought in your head the correct way – you did it. Every time you did not wash your hands thoroughly after touching a speck of dust, every time you failed to square off the edges of your papers & instead lazily left them all skewiff and untidy, every time you had an awful awful terrible thought in your head – you did this. You are responsible for it all because you did not follow the laws of the ritual. You’ve created a hell on earth by not adhering to the rules of your own personal hell. Shame on you.
And that is my OCD.
November 6, 2012
Game Over
You have three hundred words to justify the existence of your favorite person, place, or thing. Failure to convince will result in it vanishing without a trace. Go!
This was yesterday’s Word Press daily prompt. I saw it this morning. I think I’m going to start doing these. They look like fun. But does this pre-amble count towards my 300 words? Hope not. Ok I’d better start….
I’ve picked WoW as my thing. I have to. Despite the fact that over the past few months I’ve only been able to play around 2 hours a week I still really love the game & miss the fact that I can’t spend more time on it. But me loving something is not enough to justify its existence - just as me hating something doesn’t unjustify its existence (is “unjustify” a word? – well it is now – as Shakespeare said for over 1700 words which I think is pushing it a bit). Grudgingly even I must admit spiders have a purpose. So what else can I say for WoW?
Ok – it should exist because it relaxes me. Well that’s a little too subjective (unless Blizzard really did design it just for me- some begging letter from my husband asking them to please for the love of God create a game that will stop my wife’s insane anxiety about god knows what landed on the Blizzard doormat & WoW was the result? If that was the case you can all thank me later – although I apologise for blood elves.) But aside from the subjectivity of that argument it’s also not actually true – PUGs have frequently stressed the hell out of me and I cried once when I got lost in a dungeon. Pathetic? Yes. Relaxed? No.
So ok – what about the fact it’s fun? Well yes sometimes it is – but at other times it’s too grindy (I am not a dailies person as you know) and very repetitive when you level alts. Indeed the underlying pattern of “do this to earn more that” when stripped right back exposes (to me) a very hollow core. Too often these days I ask myself why I am spending so much time getting cartoon characters to do stuff that just earns them more stuff. Moving pixels around to receive more pixels differently arranged.
So WoW – it’s infuriating and often not fun. It has no consistent end goal (patches & expansions always move it) & so consists of constant striving for something that’s always going to change – that boss today, a different boss tomorrow, that gear today, different gear tomorrow. Indeed the only true end would be the end of the game itself – Blizzard calling it quits- game over. And what would happen then? Perhaps we’d find different games to play, or maybe even different hobbies? Perhaps we’d simply watch more TV. Anything rather than sit alone with our thoughts- because who wants to do that? Therein lies madness. Because I think deep down we all know we’re really playing a much bigger game - often also infuriating and lacking in the fun department and often with changeable goals and yearnings for things we no longer want once we have them. And always with the uncertainty of when the plug will be pulled. Game over.
And so finally then there’s the answer- the existence of WoW is justified because it keeps us occupied – not relaxed but occupied. It stops our minds wandering to places they really don’t want to go, places where thoughts about the purpose of life and the futility of it all lurk and fester. So WoW must exist because it stops our minds getting us into trouble …who can fret about the future when there’s a smiling npc with a golden question mark just above his head? And if he replaces that with an exclamation mark even better – we have a purpose again. The Game Over screen has been delayed once more.
Notes (ooh aren’t I posh having notes?!)
1. Yes that took over 700 words – but I’ve decided the first 5 paragraphs are all preamble!
2. While I’ve got your attention (any of you who read to the end that is!) please consider visiting here & reading my story Choices- just 55 words- and voting for it if you like it. Writing these things is another way I use to keep my own mind out of those dark depressing corners.
Thank you 
November 3, 2012
The Guardian Spirit Ch6: The Doomed Flight
It was hard to say how long they flew. Union didn’t stop chatting and Jimgar lost all track of time. Union told him all about his family (three brothers, three sisters, all of them still in dragon school - Union was the oldest). His mother seemed to be a strange old dragon soul – frequent spells in the sanatarium to the north. She had never quite got over Union’s father – missing in action since the last war. Union also told him about his favourite past time (tickling squirrels), his favourite colour (azure blue – he was very specific about this and also run through the other shades of blue that simply did not measure up) and his secret dream (to marry Princess Rosalind who had officiated at his graduation ceremony and commented on the shine of his scales – “clearly flirting” said Union with a smirk). Jimgar tried to ask Union a few questions about some of the things that were bothering him- how long had Union known Medeeive? (“Hardly know him at all,” said the dragon, “Just summoned by him every now and then when a young mage needs a ride.”) Had he ever come across a mining monkey (even Jimgar blushed asking this – knowing how ridiculous it sounded). Union’s reply was tactful, “Umm forgive me sir but I think over work might have been the cause of that particular vision. And you say he was holding a pick and not a wrench?” “Yes a pick,” Jimgar had replied reluctantly.
“Well that proves it,” Union had replied. “I don’t even think a monkey could hold a pick. Do they even have opposable thumbs or is it all unopposable fingers- whatever that means? You’re clearly not getting enough calcium anyway, that’s your problem. Your neurons are misfiring. I’ll get you a nice glass of milk later. Now where was I. Oh yes Auntie Mildred. Not told you about her yet have I?” And on and on he went. Jimgar decided the best course of action was to just let the inane chatter flow over him. It was rather relaxing. And he needed that right now since as they flew higher and higher Jimgar was reminded (rather forcefully by the waves of nausea and heart palpitations that were beginning to beset him up here in the air) that he had never quite managed to resolve his phobia of heights (his mother’s attempt to cure it by dangling him out of a windmill and threatening to drop him was not quite as foolproof as she had claimed). So Jimgar simply closed his eyes, held on tight and relaxed into the flow of Union’s words.
Which meant it came as something of a shock when both the movement and words stopped abruptly without warning. Union had been describing his favourite food (fried potato with grilled fawn) but halted mid sentence. Jimgar opened his eyes and looked down. Trying to ignore his queasiness he focused on what was below them. A light at ground level caught his eye, and then a movement. He looked closer. They were hovering over a river. The movement had been amongst some bushes on the river bank. “Did you see that?” he asked Union. “Yes, there’s someone there,” said the dragon. “Let’s go a bit nearer. No one out at this time of night can be up to much good.”
Slowly the dragon started to descend so that they were nearer the ground. Jimgar was now certain it was a person moving around at the side of the river. He could even make out a tent too. By the side of the tent was the source of the light he had seen - a campfire. Then he spotted something that went someway to calming his palpitating heart (although it would require his feet on solid ground before it truly calmed) – the banner displaying the symbol of his nation (a cat holding an orb in its left paw). Could this be some sort of military outposting then – with just one soldier? That would be unusual to say the very least. But at least the soldier here was one of his own.
“Shall we go closer?” Union asked, already straining, displaying either admirable bravery or simple eagerness for more conversation partners – it was hard to tell.
“I’m not sure. The soldier might not take too kindly to us being …”
Before he could finish his sentence something sailed past his face. It landed on Union – or rather, to be more precise, in Union. It was an arrow.
“What the…?”
He looked down. The figure- the soldier – although hard to make out was clearly aiming a bow and arrow at him and the dragon. Without thinking Jimgar called down, “Wait wait we’re not…” Again before he could finish another arrow whizzed past. Union, without waiting to be asked, veered up into the sky, trying to escape. But as he did so he seemed to waver. “I’m dizzy,” he muttered. Jimgar looked at the arrow sticking out of the back of his neck. He reached over and pulled it out. There was a purple tip at the end of the arrow – Even’s Dust – a sedative. He let the word sink in. A sedative. He was flying high up in the air on the back of a soon to be very asleep dragon. It was now clearly time to…
It was the third thought he wouldn’t finish. They were already plummeting to the ground. Down and down they fell. Then a thump. He vaguely realised it was his head hitting the dirt. He looked up. A large face loomed over him. It did not look friendly. It also did not look human. And then all went blank.
October 28, 2012
Bread of Heaven
I’m Welsh. I hear this & I get shivers down my spine. Nothing like it. But even so – EVEN SO – one minute in & my attention starts to wander…and it’s all because of the first word of the hymn – bread. I get a Homer Simpson donut like reaction to bread (hmmm bread – drool drool) if the word is repeated in my vicinity. Honestly. And when that happens there is no hope for me. I’m lost. My mind is full of X rated bread fantasies – hot buttered toast, crusty bread with jam, chip butty (with lots of butter on the bread), yummy garlic bread, french baguette & cheese etc. “Hmm bread” indeed.
And it’s ironic. One of my favourite podcasts is Livin’ La Vida Lo Carb.
(Mind you- and rant incoming warning – right now that’s a love to hate type thing- I love all the interviews & I find Jimmy very engaging, but the gradual move from “low carb is the answer” to “high fat is the answer”- motivated it seems by the failure of low carb to work long term for Jimmy & others & the recognition that this failure cannot be fully acknowledged on this show because that would invalidate the whole premise of the show (it’s Livin’ La Vida LO CARB after all) – really really irritates me. But since I’m not obsesssively fixed on one diet solution – i.e. I’m not part of the low carb v vegan/vegetarian v paleo debate- then I can listen with an open mind & still enjoy the interviews. But still….I’m irritated.)
But anyway…my diet goals & needs are simple (well simple to describe – far from simple to meet!). I just want to eat:-
(a) the best fuel for my body – I train regularly & I’m now running a marathon
(b) the best nutrients for good mental health (I have OCD- had it since I was a child – I have been on medication but I am now determined to deal with it via diet & exercise)
(c)the best nutrients for neurological disorders that cause periodic leg spasms (I’m on anti Parkinson medication for this but don’t like the thought of that being the only answer – determined to find the right diet)
(d)the best food & calories to help me lose about a stone & feel full longer – I hate the gnawing empty pain I get in my body about two hours after a meal
I’ll write more about these different diet goals again- but the point here is that a lot of my research has suggested that a lower carb diet & higher protein/fat diet could be better for me. However, my love of bread (plus my pretty crap willpower when the gnawing belly hunger strikes…or when I’m tired and depressed…which sadly is not that infrequently) is often my undoing. Until now. Enter stage left Burgen Soya & Linseed bread – my saviour. (And the saviour of others too it seems- much to my horror last night I could not find one for love nor money in Tescos (offered both to a bemused sales assistant to no avail). Ended up buying another type of bread not half as good …and was forced into that choice by an exasperated husband moaning, “How can it take this long to buy a loaf of bread?” as I scrutinised & compared various nutrition labels).
So what is so great about this bread?
The blurb on the packaging says ”High in Calcium” & “High in Fibre”. I know these are good things – well know in as much as we know anything diet related – I mean it’s entirely possible 5 years down the line there will be government health warnings about too much calcium making you turn to stone in your sleep or something, and too much fibre leading to …well you can imagine….dog mess in the street would be the least of your problems.
But right now so far so good. What else?
Ok per slice nutrition information- 124 kcals, 7g of protein, 12g Carbs of which 2,4g are sugar, 4.4 g fat & 4.1g of fibre. This is great in a number of different ways.
1. Carbs – as all low carbers know on a low carb diet you work out net carbs by subtracting the fibre from the carbs. So the bread is 7.9g of carbs per slice. Low carbers can & do go as low as 20-25g a day (and of course there are zero carbers) but others go as high as around 100g-150g. I’m currently on 60g which would therefore still be considered low carb by most. So this bread on a moderately low carb diet is doable. Whoohoo!
2. The Glycaemic Index value of the bread is 36 – which is low. GI measures how quickly a carbohydrate is broken down in the body to increase blood glucose levels- as with most things you want slow & steady i.e. you want to avoid the spikes (as Buffy said to Angel…which I know is a crap joke but I’m having Buffy withdrawal symptoms here today for some reason so please indulge me).
2. Protein- it has higher protein than most other breads (eg average slice of white bread gives you 1.9g of protein). Protein is good stuff for muscles & satiety - both of which I need. Indeed having this bread for breakfast this morning did seem to keep the gnawing hunger at bay (& no that’s not because I ate an entire loaf in one sitting…I did restrict myself to one slice…honest).
3. Fat- this bread is a source of Omega 3 essential fatty acids and these are good for so many things including good heart & brain functions, blood pressure, inflammation, depression etc. I believe Omega 3 alone has an important role in helping me achieve my diet goals.
So all in all this is a great bread – low GI so no blood sugar spike, high protein so nice & filling, and it comes with all the benefits of the Omega 3 essential fatty acids. This morning I had it with a bit of salmon & an egg. A really good well balanced breakfast which kept me nice & full & energised until lunchtime. And that is definitely a first for me! So please Tescos – get more in!
