Song Challenge Day 2: A Song With a Number in the Title

Time for Day 2: "A song you like with a number in the title."

Easy pick, this one was:

I first heard this song in the movie Fly Away Home, of all places. I loved that movie- I watched it every time it was on TV. I even bought a copy of it when I was in college, although somewhere along the way it got lost.

A year after the movie came out (so in 1997), my grandmother passed away from lung cancer. It wasn't a long, drawn-out battle, either- she was diagnosed in October and passed a few days after my birthday in March. (Happy birthday to me, right? Some sort of fucked up cosmic joke, and to this day, it's a reason I'm often reluctant to give a shit about making it another year.) It was sudden, nigh traumatic- in the blink of an eye, she went from teaching me about the pork and beans plant to herself being a vegetable, and then...

Losing her was the beginning of the lifetime of hardship I've endured. While I've had some brief moments of respite, it continues to be difficult, and beyond your everyday annoyances- deaths, suicides, abuse, couch surfing, health scares of my own (most of it I haven't even bothered to bring up here)- yadda, yadda, yadda. There is a reason I call this blog American Dramady, after all. In my lowest moments, I lament how life won't give me a fucking break. I try to come out swinging, and do my best to laugh, but it can be difficult. So sometimes I find irrational things from which to draw strength when I can.

The singer is saying goodbye to someone they love dearly. But saying they won't be gone forever. Maybe it's entirely psychosomatic, but I think I created this unspoken promise from her- the promise that she'd still be there, here, present. So I almost immediately related this song to my grandma once she was gone. And to this day, whenever I play it, I can feel her fingers scratching my scalp to comfort me (it was literally the only thing that could calm me down when I was little). I can smell her perfume. I can hear her laugh. I can hear her do that thing where she starts saying one of my siblings' names and switches to mine halfway through, something that never ceased to make me giggle. I see her working in the garden, the flowers we planted together, the butterfly she once got to land on her finger. I can smell her cooking, and I think of corned beef hash and scrambled eggs, of vanilla ice cream topped with canned peaches (I can't eat those combinations, to this day).

And I know she's there. And somehow, it's not that cheesy, "You'll be in my heart, always," kind of way. It feels tangible, again, however irrational it may be. And even though I often start sobbing (like I am now, 'natch!), it's cleansing. Grandma never told me not to cry- she didn't like seeing me sad or in pain, but she never told me to "stop crying." She knew me enough to know that if I was crying, it was because I needed it. I'd do that thing little kids do where their breath starts to heave as they're blubbering, and she'd curl me up in her arms and say it's ok, let it out, as she stroked my head, and I knew I was safe. And I'd feel better a lot faster when she did that. The release when I play "10000 Miles" is the same.

The soothing mood of the song is a lot like her presence. I think that had a lot to do with why I assigned this song to her memory. I only ever saw her angry once, and it had nothing to do with me- other than that, she was just this calm, steady, constant presence.

Until she wasn't.

And the hint of sadness weaved throughout this song echoes the pain I still feel at her loss. Twenty-three years later, and it still feels fresh. Her death cut too deep for any song I equate with her to be cheerful- I can't force myself to laugh over losing her. I can laugh when recalling specific moments, but that's not the same thing.

I know I'm high-strung/emotional/whatever. And yeah, I'm sentimental a-eff. There are much less healthy coping mechanisms, though, right? 

So even though it may appear this song makes me sad, it actually gives me comfort and strength. And even as I wipe away tears, I feel better. I don't listen to it often, deliberately- it's kind of like a trump card for me, along with watching The Last Unicorn, something I save for when things are really hard so as not to dilute its effectiveness. And I think it's no coincidence that the same grandma that is the basis for The Last Unicorn being a source of comfort is the one I'm talking about here, as well.

It's hard for me to find sanctuary. In this song, I do. 

I promise, tomorrow's won't be as sad. ;p

The Eeyore and the Piglet

Content Warning: I open up about my own mental illnesses, including suicidal ideation 

Introduction

My main vessel for libations (of the non-adult variety) at home has been a really great Eeyore mug I got in I want to say high school or college from the Disney Store. It's yellow-orange, and features a cute picture of Eeyore smiling, surrounded by white flowers. I had two of them, and as far as I'm aware, my mom still has the purple one, in the same shape, with the same gloss, but a different picture of Eeyore, at her house, and I use it when I visit. I'm using said yellow-orange mug as I write this, having just snacked on a bunch of Cheez-Its (extra toasty, of course) and in need of some hydration.

Eeyore and Piglet were always tied for first place in my heart in the Winnie the Pooh Pantheon when I was a kid. And while I know it's been proven that A.A. Milne didn't intentionally write these characters (and all the others) as having mental illnesses, as I got older, I realized I liked, no, cared for these two specific ones so much because I would see them struggle- watch Eeyore try so hard to be happy, watch Piglet worry and obsess over the multitude of possibilities due to a single decision or occurrence; I would see this, and think, to put it in modern terms,

"It me."

Seeing what looked like depression in Eeyore and anxiety in Piglet was sometimes hard, sometimes cathartic, but always real for me. I didn't know what these things were until I was older, and it wasn't until three years ago I was officially diagnosed with either, but I think I've felt this way my whole life, or at least once I was past the bobbing toddler phase.

(And before I stray too far from Winnie the Pooh, I want to reiterate that yes, I get that Milne didn't mean to depict a bunch of DSM-certified stuff in his characters. BUT. I also want to emphasize that if you ever want to find out how to be close to someone with any of the various disorders that can be seen in the characters, just read the books or watch any of the series or movies, because everyone is always supportive, accepting, understanding, and unquestioning of the others' worth in the world of Winnie the Pooh, in any incarnation. When I have kids someday, they're going to be one of the staples in our household in order to teach kindness and love.)

Part One: The Eeyore In Me, Otherwise Known As Depression

A friend of mine posted a link about chronic suicidal ideation yesterday, and it spoke to me, too. I don't think my feelings are quite as "strong" (in the sense as persistent) as that of the author, but I do remember when they were, not too long ago. For a long time, I would waffle around from actively wishing it would end to thinking it would be easier to quit to wondering what the point was to thinking everyone around me would be better off if I was out of the way. Thinking of this last one in the opposite direction, much like the author in that piece above, was what always brought me back from the darkest times, the times I came closest to acting on anything.

I haven't felt that way consistently in a few years. But I see myself falling closer to where I was when it started, sometimes feeling the lesser extent of all of it for a little, and it frightens me somewhat. I have a plan, but can't act on it because of work stuff  (therapy requires, y'know, time in an office, and I have no way to consistently have that, but I have a PCP that can prescribe meds, at the very least). But before I continue here, if you're someone that knows me personally, know I'm okay and not in any danger, just like that author. I have a good support network, both near and far, and it isn't my person I'm frightened for, but rather my heart and habits, my general emotional well-being and overall state of mind. I'm frightened because I thought I had moved past those feelings, and I see myself getting closer to them on a consistent basis again.

Right now, I have a lot to be grateful for, reasons to be "happy." I have a roof over my head, an amazing boyfriend that loves me better than I ever thought I deserved, two awesome cats, tons of board games, internet, food, transportation, the aforementioned support network, a stable job (and another one that while it's retail and the schedule changes, I feel as loved and supported by everyone there as if I was family, and I'm not exaggerating- I genuinely tell my boss, "I love you," as we hug goodbye every time (if she doesn't say it first)), and I'm in a program that will get me into the disability field in one of the most on-the-ground ways, as a special ed teacher.

That doesn't mean it's easy. Honestly, I don't think my life is more stressful than average. But I struggle. I can't play a friggin' card game without bursting into tears on a bad day (true story; in response, that great boyfriend checked in with me and when I said, "I'm just having a hard time just being happy," he didn't miss a beat. He's good like that, and I'm lucky like that). I have to actively fight against crying every waking moment some days, because it hurts so much.

Some days, I can hold it in, keep it together, and if I'm lucky, I'll feel a little better the next day- enough that it isn't so hard, at least. But others, it goes more like this:

Thank you, Nathan Pile, for making such
delightful comics. 

Seriously, raise your hand if ever you've been on the struggle bus all day and keeping your cool, when something as innocuous as your gorram pen falls out of your hand and rolls under the fridge and you start ugly-crying so hard someone would think your cat died. I have days like that. Lots.

But that's not the whole of it. See, what I think gets missed a lot in talks about depression is also just that straight inability to enjoy things, especially things that normally would bring joy. It isn't always feelings of sadness or pain, but more like a lack of feeling that goes beyond neutrality. An active hole inside, a vortex you can on some level perceive sucking your emotions out. It can lead to a sort of indifference, a "whatever" feeling, inability to give a damn about anything. A weird, not-quite-passive indifference to everything. (And I think what happens to some of us is this indifference to the things around us can lead to indifference to life itself, and the aforementioned suicidal thoughts.)

There are days where I feel like a ghost, like I'm made of air and mist and could walk through the wall or float through the floor downstairs to the parking lot of my second-story apartment. And not in some fancy, magical, "I'm lighter than aaaaaair!" way. No, as in I feel insubstantial, and that's about as much as I can "feel" at all. I go through whatever motions need going through, if there are any, but those are the days I'm most likely to binge a whole season of something on Netflix if I don't have to work; if there's anything else I should be doing (laundry, grocery shopping, calling my mom or a friend I've been playing phone tag with), it ain't happenin'. 

And let me reiterate: It isn't like it actively hurts on days like this. I'm not on the verge of tears at all- the opposite, really. In fact, even though I'm pretty prone to crying on the regular, days like this, stuff that would normally get the waterworks going (like a poignant moment in the show I'm binging) don't do more than maybe make my eyes get a little hot. And dude, I'm The Gal That Cries. I am. But on days like these (I've come to call them, aptly, my "ghost days," in my headcanon about my life), I pretty much can't. 

This is my reality.

Part Two: The Piglet In Me, Otherwise Known as Anxiety

Misconception: "Having anxiety means you worry about literally everything." While it's true, some people can have anxiety that is severe enough that yes, it fits this description and thus becomes debilitating, not every case looks like that. Let me explain, with an example.

I always have to have at least six tubes of Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm in my possession, while not necessarily on my person, at a given time. I keep one in my car, one in my purse, one beside the bed, one in the living room by my usual seat on the couch/somewhere easily accessed in the living room, one for sticking in my pocket for during work, and a "spare" I keep on my dresser for "emergencies" (I honestly call it my "emergency" tube). That way, no matter where I am, I will always, always be able to whip out a tube of B'sBs and soothe my aching lips. Just the thought of needing one and not having access to one makes my heartbeat go up, it genuinely makes me nervous. While I recently switched to B'sBs about two years ago, before that it was mint Chapstick; and before that it was C.O. Bigelow's Rose Salve; and before that it was Carmex; and before that it was REGULAR Chapstick... It's something I did my best to hide from my parents, and granted, when I was a kid and didn't own my living space, I had fewer visible at a given time, but there was always something in my backpack, on my headboard, in the duffel bag I kept my Barbies in, in my desk at school (when I had a desk), and a floater I would put in my lunchbox (when I had one). I'd steal them from my dad, save change from when I was given money to do something with friends, even use birthday or Christmas money from relatives to buy them for myself without my parents knowing. I knew it was weird all along, but I was in Las Vegas, where it was reeeeeeeeeally dry, and so I needed something, right? 

And while this may sound a little obsessive-compulsive, it's the closest I've ever been, so it's not that. I keep so many tubes/pots/whatever around because I'm afraid of my lips hurting too much. I don't have a bunch of tubes because I need a specific one for a specific place or something, it's purely for the "preparedness" angle. I want to be prepared so I can avoid my lips getting too dry. I have a high tolerance for pain, usually, but my lips are the one part of my body I don't tolerate it and actively try to prevent it by having such a huge arsenal. I pretty much always have a headache, and I don't take anything for it until I reach a certain threshold; but the moment my lips start to tingle, I'm all about that lip balm.

This is the most extreme-on-paper example I have. Writing about it, I feel kind of nuts. But I've figured out how to not worry about my lips: just have a shit-ton of lip balm lying around and fuggedduboudit. 

I have my own social anxieties, but I wouldn't say I have "social anxiety" in the way you're thinking. I'm fine meeting new people, provided I have some context or reason to; I freak out over things, with people I already know, like, "What if I picked the wrong restaurant?" "What if he doesn't really think I'm beautiful?" "What if she's only laughing because she feels sorry for me?" "Does he/she hate me?" I worry about upsetting people, being misunderstood, seeming clingy, seeming aloof, sounding dumb, sounding elitist...

A lot of it comes down to "I just want errbody to like me." With the people I'm closest to, like aforementioned Awesome Boyfriend, I'm terrified of doing something to change how they feel about me. On our first date, over two years ago now, I was more at ease talking to him than I am some nights in our apartment. It's almost like a reverse-typical-social-anxiety thing: The more I know you/you know me, the more worried I am about what you think of me, how I come across, etc. 

And of course, I worry about things, too. From how shitty other drivers are (somewhat reasonable) to how evenly I chop an onion (pretty unreasonable), I can get caught up in fretting and stressing over things that are part of a regular person's life. 

Like right now, Awesome Boyfriend has confirmation a package was delivered to the leasing office like ten minutes after I left it, and we have a package slip from our mailbox from earlier that day saying said leasing office should have it (it didn't when I went). He's not worried about it, but who has two thumbs and is terrified the board games he ordered are lost/stolen/etc?

And there's a part of me that knows it's probably fine, that it's safe in the leasing office and it'll be there in the morning when Awesome Boyfriend goes to retrieve it. But I. Can't. Help. It.

But I'm sitting here now, writing this thing. I made dinner (frozen burritos, but still, I fuckin' ate, aight?), I'll go to bed soon, and I probably won't have any more problems sleeping than usual. So it's not debilitating, and so no, I wouldn't say I have severe anxiety, but I have enough of it that ridiculous stuff like if the super old Forever stamps I have are still good, nevermind the whole "Forever" part, makes my stomach plummet to my ankles.

This is also my life.

Part Three: So What?

This doesn't mean I'm "miserable" in the sense that I don't ever experience happiness or joy. I've ruminated on what "happiness" means to me before. I still believe it, that happiness isn't a constant, and sometimes we have to make our own joy, seek out and find ways to experience happiness, since it won't last on its own. So I try. So fucking hard sometimes. And there are days where I've tried hard enough that it worked, I sort of made myself believe it, if you will.

I'm not saying I think depression can be "overcome" with the "right state of mind" or some ableist bullshit like that. Fuck your walks through the woods and your yoga.

What I mean is that, sometimes, I can find some light in the dark, and that's worth living for, too. 

As uncomfortable as my life may be sometimes, it's still my life, and I'm going to keep on living it, to the best of my ability.

"The things that make me different are the things that make me me." Quoth Piglet.

Fin.

Video Game Nostalgia

I started this post at 1:30 am a few nights ago. 

I can't sleep, and my mind is racing, so I figured I could waste some time here. But I don't know what to write about (there are like ten topics right now I could rant about, actually, but I don't want to think too hard, since this is supposed to help lull me to sleep), so I'll just tell you some good memories.

I miss (video) gaming. I used to do it a lot in elementary-high school, during breaks in college, and even in graduate school. I still like keeping up with news about upcoming titles and releases, but I haven't played through a newly-released game on my own, without someone else there the whole time, since 2013 (The Walking Dead,  Journey, and Injustice). My new Beaux has encouraged me to play some games with him present, and I finished one but have basically given up during the final boss battle of another. And since, as I mentioned already, I like keeping up with what's new, he bought me Horizon: Zero Dawn for my birthday last year, knowing I was super interested in it (as pretty much every female gamer was). But I couldn't finish that one, either- I played for a few hours, and liked what I got through, but since I was playing on his PS4 and we weren't living together, and my roommates were playing through it on theirs, and then he started playing it, too... 

Not me. Not me in the slightest.

But I also was reeeeeally struggling with the whole joystick thing. I've always been terrible at FPS, and preferred my games to be third-person, with a camera that follows you, and maybe you do some tweaking, if the environment is 3-D. Like what Journey did, or Resident Evil 4. Having to constantly move the camera with me, especially during combat was something I just couldn't adapt to. And I was embarrassed because my Beaux would watch me play and screw up SUPER STUPID BADLY because the camera wasn't in the right spot. Sure, he was never mean about it, but I was just so ashamed that this professed "gamer" that I was couldn't even shoot a gorram arrow at a slow-moving target, let alone survive intense, quick combat. And I am fully aware that most games have a camera system like that nowadays, so I know getting back into games is going to be really difficult for me. He's got me playing Portal, a game I've been interested in for a decade, which he says will help me get better at the camera thing, but it's sometimes really hard to focus because he's right there and I don't want to look stupid, and I feel like no matter how hard I try not to, when I respond to something he says while I'm playing, I sound angry or mean because I'm so tense.* 

Anyway

The fact that I used to be pretty okay at video games and am now an utter N00b is painful. And there's no way to express my disappointment without either sounding whiney or curmudgeony. I think it's great that games have evolved! I'm just sad I didn't evolve with them. 

I don't remember if I talked about it specifically or not before, but video games were a way for my family to "come together" when I was a kid/teenager. Sure, I'd play through stuff Mom and Dad rented or managed to buy for me on my own, but there were a few series we would play together, meaning Dad, my older sister, and I (and later with the addition of my younger sister) would take turns holding the control while everybody else (including Mom and my younger brother) watched. They were mostly survival horror, but the Spyro series was one distinctly not "scary" series I remember we enjoyed. While I remember needing to do some camera work in that game, it was so much slower than the intense stuff that's around nowadays. And with it being re-released in November, I worry I'll still be too shitty of a player to even bother getting it because it's going to be too "updated" for me to handle. (Same goes for this Resident Evil 2 Remaster.)

But anyhoo.  

Video games were some of the few luxury items Dad was willing to splurge on, when they were the right titles. Whenever a new game in a series our family liked playing together was coming out, he would leave work early enough to pick it up on the way home and still get there before my older sister and I did that Thursday. We would start it that afternoon, sometimes with a pause for dinner in the evening, other times not (and actually, I think I remember later the tradition became ordering Chinese takeout from our favorite place). And Dad, my older sis, and me would stay home the next day to keep playing. We'd sometimes play through a game twice over the weekend, if it was one we liked that much. I even remember one time, Dad actually picked me up from school early on Thursday so I could go with him when he went to Blockbuster to rent the system (GameCube) after we bought the game (back when that was still a Thing) (also it may make no sense we rented the console but bought the game, but 1) Dad wanted us to purchase the game "so the'll keep making these fuckers," and 2) at that point, it was the only game we were interested in on that system, and we weren't sure if any others would come out; we bought one eventually because yeah, we wanted other stuff on it, but a console is a much bigger investment than a game, and when bills may or may not be on time, you have to prioritize, is all I'm sayin', yo).

Video games were Serious Business in our household. What's interesting is Dad, older sis, and I all played NES and Genesis, but never with each other. I'd sometimes watch Dad play stuff, but for the most part, gaming was a solo act for us. Until we got the Playstation. After that, we started the whole "play hooky," everybody's involved thing. I think because we got the system, along with the first RE, Tekken 3, and the Die Hard Trilogy on Christmas, and so we were all available to hang out as we watched Dad play Die Hard, and since I had always liked horror/scary/spooky shit, he wanted me there when he tried Resident Evil, and it just kind of evolved into this whole family thing. And over time, it became somewhat of a refuge when things were rough. 

Ah, memories. It led to some pretty great moments. Some highlights:

Resident: Evil

MOM: *From the dining table where she's putting on makeup or something* Do you really have to kill the dogs?

GAB: Yes, Mom, they're zombie dogs.

ZOMBIE DOG: AAAAAAAARGH! *snarls, goes after JILL*

JILL: AGH! *bleeds* 

GAB: See, Mom?! They're going after my jugular!

MOM: Well, it's just sad.

JILL: *shoots ZOMBIE DOG*

ZOMBIE DOG: *yelps, falls over*

MOM: See? They scream in pain!

ZOMBIE DOG: *big pool of blood forms underneath, indicating it's dead for realz*

JILL: *limps away, health in red now*

Yeah, I feel SOOOO BAD about it.

MOM: Why are you limping?

GAB: *pauses, turns to stare at MOM*

MOM: WHAT?!?!

Silent Hill

DAD: *after messing with the PIANO for almost an hour* I'm not musical, maybe that's it. Here *shoves control at OLDER SIS* you do this shit.

OLDER SIS: Sure! I'll get this nice and quick.

*an hour later*

OLDER SIS: I have no idea.

DAD: Gab, you try.

*OLDER SIS hands GAB control*

GAB: Okaaaaay, but if you two couldn't get it, I-

DAD: Just try it, we gotta get past this shit.

*an hour later*

GAB: Daaaaaaad, I really don't think-

DAD: Fine! Yeah! Whatever! I give up for now! Jesus!

*the next day, DAD is all business*

DAD: Okay, girls, we're gonna get this shit. *tries a few things, none work*

OLDER SIS: Maybe if-

DAD: I DON'T KNOW! It's like this piano is laughing at me!

PIANO: *does nothing*

*DAD keeps trying for another two hours or so, then rage quits again*

*the next day, OLDER SIS isn't home*

DAD: *serious tone, stage whisper, in the kitchen* Okay, Gab.

GAB: Yeah?

DAD: They have, like, walkthroughs and shit on the Internet, right?

GAB: Yeah, so?

DAD: *normal tone* So? *marches over to Playstation, boots it up* So you're gonna go upstairs, go online, and print me some kind of Goddamn walkthrough so I can get past this FUCKING piece of shit piano, and you aren't gonna tell your sister about it. Got it?

GAB: Y-y-YES! Got it!

*two hours later, OLDER SIS gets home*

OLDER SIS: Oh hey! You made it past the piano!

GAB: Well-

DAD: Fuck YEAH, we did, right, Gab?

GAB: Yeah! Yeah, right!

Dino Crisis

GAB: OHMYGOD, THAT'S SAILOR VENUS!

DAD: The fuck are you talking about?

OLDER SIS: I think you're right, Gab, that sounds like her!

DAD: Oh, you mean the girl doing Regina's voice?

BOTH GIRLS: OHMYGOD! THAT'S SO COOL!

DAD: QUIET, DAMNIT! I don't wanna get jumped by a-

RAPTOR: *leaps out and attacks*

DAD: MOTHER FUCKER!

*later in the game, OLDER SIS is playing*

GAB: At least they don't open doors in this game like they do in Jurassic Park.

*ten minutes later T-REX smashes head through big window and starts chomping at Regina*

DAD: AAAAAAGH!

OLDER SIS: SHIT YOU DO IT! *throws control at GAB*

GAB: WHY ME?! *fumbles control, it goes under the coffee table*

DAD: Cuz you JINXED it, you idiot!

T-REX: ROOOOOAAAAAR!!!!! *bites Regina's head off*

GAB: *emerging from under table, holding control over head* GOT IT!

OLDER SIS and DAD: *glare at GAB*

GAB: *looks at screen* Oh... *control goes down slowly into lap* Sorry...

Resident Evil 3 

NEMESIS: STAAAAARS! 

DAD: Okay, so we obviously can't run from this, shit. And I don't even have the shotgun!

GAB: I dunno, Dad, I think the Magnum is better.

DAD: Well I'll just let him kill me so I can get to the box and grab a shotgun. 

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARS!!

*DAD loads from the last save point, loads up on healing items, and takes the shotgun to the fight*

OLDER SIS: Don't you think you should save again with all of your stuff, just to make it easier?

DAD: It'll be fine.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARSS!

*DAD enters the fight and empties two shotgun cartridges into NEMESIS*

DAD: Why isn't the fucker down yet?

NEMESIS: STAAAAARSS!

DAD: *closes eyes, breathes in deeply through nose, exhales slowly through mouth, blinks* Okay, I just need more bullets. I'll save after I add them to my inventory.

GAB: Are you sure you don't wanna try the Magnum?

DAD: Sweetie, listen, I ran out of bullets last time, that's it. The shotgun is fine. There's no way we're even half done with the game yet, I want to save the Magnum for the final boss.

GAB: Okay, Dad.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARRRRSS!

DAD: Son. Of. A. Bitch! Well, how 'bout one of you try?

OLDER SIS: I can! *takes control*

GAB: Sis, will you try the Magnum?

OLDER SIS: Nah, I can probably dodge better. I'll use the rest of the B gunpowder and make more bullets, too.

DAD: Magnum bullets are too hard to make, the shotgun is fine.

OLDER SIS: Yeah, we just need to be careful not to miss.

DAD: And we can try the grenade launcher next.

GAB: Okaaaaay.....

OLDER SIS: Let's go, then!

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARRRSSS!

OLDER SIS: Okay, grenade launcher it is, then.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARRRRSS!!!

OLDER SIS: Okay, well, I wasn't careful enough to dodge, I'll do better this time.

NEMESIS: 

,

!!!!!!

GAB: *holds out hand* May I?

OLDER SIS: *glares*

DAD: Oh, for Christ's sake, just let her. 

GAB: *starts from last safe point, loads up on as many Magnum rounds as I can make* Just one try with this, okay? I won't save that I used all of the C powder, and if it doesn't work, I'll switch to the grenade launcher.

DAD: *grumbles* I still like the shotgun more, on principle.

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARSS!

GAB: *unloads entire clip of rounds into NEMESIS without getting hit, runs for cover* OKAY! *reloads* So I know that was a lot of rounds, but let's see what happens.

OLDER SIS: *scoffs*

GAB: *unloads all but last bullet into NEMESIS*

DAD: Aw, shit, it's your last shot!

GAB: Oh my GOOOOOOD! *last shot*

NEMESIS: *staggers, falls down, whispering now* Staaaarrrss....

DAD: Holy shit, did you get 'im?

GAB: *panicked* I dunno!

OLDER SIS: He's not moving, the boss music stopped, you did it!

GAB: *jumps up, fist pumping* I TOLD YOU GUYS TO USE THE MAGNUM!!!!!!! *offers control to DAD*

DAD: *while standing and walking around his recliner toward his bedroom and bathroom* No, no, obviously you're smarter about this shit than me, you're in charge for a while. I need to take a shit and eat some TUMS, this shit is stressing me the fuck out. Pause it until I get back, will ya?

GAB: *beams at OLDER SIS*

OLDER SIS: *rolls eyes*

Code: Veronica X

YOUNGER SIS: Okay, but like dolls creep me out. *tries to offer control to GAB*

DAD: Oh no, you need to get in on this more. Keep going.

YOUNGER SIS: *whimpers, keeps playing*

GAB: Anyway, it's a zombie game, the dolls won't come to life. They're just... atmosphere, ambience. 

YOUNGER SIS: I'll "atmos" your "sphere".

DAD: *sighs*

*both girls giggle*

ZOMBIE: UUUUNNNNNGGGGGH!

YOUNGER SIS: SHIT! 

*later*

DAD: Oh don't tell me he's just a fuckin' cross-dressing nutjob?

*it's revealed Alfred has been dressing as his sister*

DAD: Son. Of. A. Bitch.

*later*

YOUNGER SIS: STEEEEEVE! 

STEVE: 

YOUNGER SIS: Dyammit. Don't say you love her, please, oh for the love of GOD, don't do it, it'll break me.

STEVE:

YOUNGER SIS: NOOOOOOOO I SAID DON'T DO THAT YOU ASSHOLE! Don't die on me now!

STEVE:

YOUNGER SIS: NUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOO!!!

Limbo

DAD: SHIT, why's this so fuckin' hard!

YOUNGER SIS: Uh, Dad, I think that's kinda the point. Like you're supposed to die a bunch?

DAD: Well I don't appreciate that.

GAB: You're supposed to figure out how to solve the puzzles by dying.

DAD: I shouldn't have to die to sove a fuckin' puzzle.

YOUNGER SIS: What are those? 

DAD: Fuck if I know!

GAB: They look kinda like insect legs.

YOUNGER SIS: Or tree branches?

BOY: 

DAD: *growels*

*later*

YOUNGER SIS: Okayokayokay, I can't believe we didn't die back there. What do we do now?

DAD: Try pushing that boulder into that tree?

YOUNGER SIS: Okay, Imma do it. And I am NOT going to die this time!

BOY: 

YOUNGER SIS: DYAAAAMMMIIIIT!

+++++++

I have tons of others, but I've gone on long enough. And it's time to watch my Beaux play something. Memories, though.

*That tension is probably mostly related to some other general mental health garbage- which is why I can't sleep, so HI! You're reading this because I'm a MESS! YAY!.