Epiphany

Well, it’s official. I’ve turned into one of those geeks who can’t stop playing computer games. Hours come and go and here I sit, playing backgammon with “Intermediate Arabic”, that faceless person across the globe who, I have a sneaking suspicion, has all this time on his hands because he’s sitting in a cave in Tora Bora, playing on a laptop. It could be. They have modern things; guns, bombs, Timex watches. I however do not have such time. I have things to do. My fate is not quite so cut and dry. I almost envy that son of a bitch. At least he knows what he’ll be doing for the next few years… if he’s not dead. And even if he is dead, he’s pretty certain he’ll be in heaven surrounded by 70 virgins. He’s wrong, but he’s certain. I however have no such delusions. No time and no delusions. I know, as I click and roll and chat in pre-selected language bytes: Nice role; It was luck; It’s your turn; Are you still there? … I know, as player after player quits the game the moment he or she starts to lose… I know that I am wasting my life!

My eyelids flutter and grow heavy and yet here I sit, mindlessly clicking on “new game”, “new game”, “new game”. When I get bored with backgammon, I switch. “Word Whomp” is a personal favorite. I own all the best times on Minesweeper. I mollify my saner self with the thought that this type of brain exercise will help me live longer and stave off Alzheimer’s. My saner self says, “Yes, you’re brain will go on… long after your body fails from disuse. They will keep it in a jar, on view as a cautionary tale. Would you like to ask it a question?” “It was luck; Good role; Are you still there?” Which conjures up ancient fears of being buried alive… Which compounds the problem because, even if I should tear myself away and climb the stairs to my bed, I am now too afraid to close my eyes… There’s a game where little bugs pop up in a bowl of soup and you get to hit them over the head with a spoon. This, while not being of the brain enhancement variety, gives me tremendous satisfaction.

It occurs to me that my house is getting dirty, and so I rebel against my fixation, click my way back to the desktop, and clean something; the floor, the bathroom, the kitchen counter. (I know it’s under these stacks of old mail somewhere). Then, with a great feeling of accomplishment, I tell myself I am entitled to a break. So I rush back to the computer and find someone to play with. Perhaps that’s it! I don’t remember it ever being easy to find people to play with. Imagine how wonderful it would have been as a child to be able to click and find a playmate, with none of the attendant risk involved of having to approach a stranger-child on the street and ask, “Can I play?” It’s more like coming upon a playground full of children starving for someone to play with and all you have to do is show up and they get in line to wait for a turn. Janie has to go home for dinner? That’s okay, Susie’s here.