Confessions Of The Obsessed
We are not sure what we are complaining about, as who needs to read about your trials with detecting which appliance was leaving the rust smears on occasional articles of clothing all those months (turns out it was the nefarious dryer). Or that the dog has been taking to grabbing 2-3 pieces of kibble in her mouth and just leaving them in a cluster here and there in the kitchen and dining room (there can be no possible answer for that). For a while, we kept hoping you would forget your vows of confidentiality and blog about the patients and all, for we all know that there must be scads of good work stories, but we've given up on such sensational and gruesome fodder. We are just wondering why the change.
Ah, dearest darlings, many reasons. Work has been busier, I've been duller, and I found something to replace the hours in front of the computer at home, at least for now.
Actually, that's not entirely true. It's sort of computeresque, it's just small and hand-held and I can curl up in the Big Chair with it and a blanket and consume hours and hours that way.
Yeah! Mama got a DS.
Actually, mama stole the Animal Crossing game her daughter got from Santa.
See, it has reading in it. Sara can't read. Therefore, Sara can't possibly enjoy the game as much as she should. Therefore, the game should, nay must, go to the one person in the family who would really enjoy it.
The control freak.
Well, actually, Colin would also enjoy it, but I'm bigger than him.
To be honest, I did let him play with the game for a short time and, as I handed it over to him, actually heard myself tell him quite sternly that he could on no account get that axe and cut down a single tree. OR trample a flower. OR pick any of the valuable apples or coconuts that I'd so painstakingly planted (the cheap oranges he could do with what he would). OR touch anything in MY house (which he shared).
That weekend, I went and bought him his own game. And, as I didn't actually have my own DS, we had to get me one, so I wouldn't have to share with the small-handed ones. Now we play curled up together in the Big Chair. Harmony.
Soooooo, what is the attraction to this game?
Tcha! It's brilliant! You get to inhabit your own little town and order it just the way you want. Sort of. Well, at least your house. Sort of. Actually, you are completely dependent on the proprieter of the single store for all your furnishing goods, and he only offers a few things each day. But! You get to run around with your shovel and fishing rod and butterfly net and catch fish and dig up fossils and catch bugs (Well, you can catch the bugs when the weather is warmer. Currently, it's snowy and the bugs aren't out. Except the flies.) The flowers still bloom, though, and the orange trees fruit, which is good. The coconuts do, too. On the snowy beach.
And you get to weed the town! And water the turnip plant that you hope to sell for a fat profit. (In fact, you'd really rake in the dough if that sow, Joan, would sell you more than just one turnip seed at a time.) And you get to re-arrange your furniture. And (squeal!) pay your mortgage! To the slumlord that also owns the company store (Anyone feel the urge to sing 16 Tons?)
You do get accosted by the other townies, who are annoying and animal-shaped, but you can ignore them or hit them with your butterfly net, which causes them to shun you for a bit. (Sadly, you don't get to wack them with the shovel.) Also, sometimes they give you stuff, which you can turn around and sell off. They have short memories and don't seem able to hold a grudge for more than 5 minutes, so pissing them off will only buy you a modicum of peace.
So, that's what I've been doing of an evening. Pulling weeds and watering the turnip.
Maybe, if I'm really, really lucky, I'll get to buy a lawn mower and mow the town. Or maybe a vacuum?
Sad. So very sad the life of an obsessive-compulsive control freak.
Labels: In My Spare Time